


maybe the world won't find us

by awrfhi



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, brief mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrfhi/pseuds/awrfhi
Summary: dan takes on a defence case which he personally witnesses and he grows closer to his client phil. needless to say, the lines between business and pleasure become increasingly blurred.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this is a new fic that i've decided will be chaptered because i apparently love making myself suffer
> 
> i got inspiration from the lovely @isthisadrawingiseebefore me on tumblr !! specifically this art: http://isthisadrawingiseebeforeme.tumblr.com/post/170790980127/after-phils-vid-i-kept-imagining-what-if-phil
> 
> please go show them some love and i hope u enjoy <3

It’s a cloudy day in Manchester that Dan finds himself strolling downtown, a panini in one hand and his other shouldering a rucksack. His colleagues always give him odd looks when he comes into work with _it_ instead of a briefcase, but he doesn’t (nor ever will) care. The carefully rehearsed ‘science vs. male pride’ spiel has been well received a grand total of zero times.

However much they question how he chooses to carry his belongings, they never dispute the fact that Dan’s passionate about what he does. Law was a decision made on a whim, but it’s served him well so far. Criminal law is a goal he’s working towards – for now, he’s content with smaller lawsuits.

His latest is a woman suing a restaurant for giving her food poisoning. Whenever he’s working on it, he can’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation.

(“The tuna came completely raw!” she’d protested. “There wasn’t even any tartar sauce! It’s in the name!”

 _Excuse me if this comes off as rude, but do you know what tuna tartare is?_ he’d replied in his head.

The only words that left his lips were “I see.”)

And that’s how life is. He gets tea and a panini on his way to work, whiles away hours trying to construct defence cases for virtually indefensible clients and goes home to video games and perpetual loneliness. It could be better, could be worse. There isn’t much room to complain, especially right now as a certain toasted snack feels like it’s the perfect temperature for eating.

Bringing it up to his lips, he notes how he’d maybe underestimated the cooling time and how he should probably leave it for a bit but it smells so good and he’s desperate and -

A crash.

Wincing from the sound, Dan’s teeth clamp down on the already-too-hot panini and the pain it elicits is enough to make him pull them away immediately. He grumbles some choice words under his breath. It’s a good panini. At least it would have been if he had any taste buds left to enjoy it.

He turns his head to where the noise came from and what he sees is enough to make him wince again. There’s a man sprawled on the side of the road, nursing what looks like a broken arm. Beside him lies a bike which is as good as ruined, with its handlebar bent at a strange angle and the spokes of the front wheel sticking out. Suddenly a burnt tongue seems like the most trivial issue in the world.

Seconds pass. Dan flickers between continuing on his merry way or going over to help a man who clearly looks like he could use some. _Variety is the spice of life_ , his brain offers. He decides to go for it.

He breaks into a gentle run and kneels beside the man, discarding his rucksack and the panini that’s apparently been warmed up in the pits of hell. The man looks up at him and Dan notes his pupils are dilated. Adrenaline rush? That’s a bad sign.

“Hey,” he begins. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” the man replies, frowning.

“That was a dumb question, I’m sorry. I could, could... call an ambulance?”

“It’s not that bad,” the man reassures him. He tries to sit up and the pain is visible on his face. Dan reaches an arm out to stop him. “Trouble seems to find me, I guess.”

“It is that bad. I’m calling an ambulance.”

When the man protests, Dan shushes him as he pulls out his phone and punches some numbers into it. As the phone’s dialling, he sees blood on the man’s forehead. With his free hand, he pulls a tissue out of his pocket and dabs at it.

Two minutes later, he’s 1) confirmed his location to the emergency services and 2) learnt that the name of the unfortunate individual before him is Phil. The adrenaline is already wearing off, and he’s not too sure how long he has before Phil potentially faints in front of him.

His eyelids droop.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” he says. “Stay with me a bit longer. The ambulance is nearly here. Hold on just a little bit more.”

Phil nods, looking increasingly dazed and out of touch with reality. Dan realises he still has his helmet on and curses himself.

“I’m going to take your helmet off. Hopefully that’ll help.”

Being as gentle as he can, he unclasps the strap underneath Phil’s chin and slips the helmet off his head, revealing a mop of black hair that’s slightly matted with sweat. In a questionable move, he smooths his hair back as if giving his forehead more access to fresh air will help the situation at all.

“Helps.”

“Hm?” Dan’s forehead creases.

“The helmet,” Phil explains weakly. “Helps.”

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s good.”

Sirens ring in the distance and Dan sighs with relief. He raises a hand and waves to get the ambulance’s attention when it’s close to them. At that point, Phil’s head slumps backwards and Dan rushes to hold him steady.

Things slowly start to blur together. He replies to any questions the emergency service workers have for him to the best of his ability, but Phil’s still a stranger he decided to take pity on. He can’t ride in the ambulance with him to hospital when they’ve only been acquainted for the best part of 15 minutes.

Soon Phil’s on a stretcher being loaded into the back of the ambulance and there’s a woman smiling, thanking him for his help. He smiles politely in reply, says it wasn’t too much trouble. Then the ambulance drives off and there’s another vehicle removing Phil’s mangled mess of a bike and whatever loneliness he’d momentarily forgotten comes crashing down again.

Phil’s helmet lies beside him. He picks it up along with his belongings and makes the final part of his journey to work. Phil could always buy another one, he supposes. Maybe they might see each other again and make plans to return it.

“You’re late,” a colleague notes as he rushes to his office out of the elevator.

“Traffic was bad,” he mumbles, dumping his stuff on his desk and firing up his computer.

“I thought you walked to work?”

“People are traffic too.”

When he’s finally settled at his desk and ready to start the day, he sighs and takes a bite of the panini.

It’s gone cold.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fancy a new case?” Dan’s boss calls to him, throwing some paper onto his desk.

“Alright,” he mumbles. “What’s it about?”

“There’s more detail in there than I care to explain. Something about a man in an accident.”

Dan grins knowingly. “It wasn’t his fault?”

“Something like that.”

He opens the packet up and a familiar face stares at him. Not overly familiar, like a friend or family member, but recognisable enough to jog some part of his brain. The text underneath the photo reads ‘Phil Lester’. Dan quirks a brow.

“I saw this accident happen,” he comments.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He fell off his bike. It was nasty.”

There’s a brief pause.

“If you’ll read what I’ve just given you, it’s more than just him falling off his bike.”

Dan’s eyes scan a couple of lines of Phil’s recollection of what happened and his mouth goes sour. It’s hard to say during early stages, but Phil getting thrown off his bike from a collision with a car with a number plate that he _happens to recognise_ doesn’t bode well.

The more he reads, the worse he feels. What he’d assumed was a broken arm turned out to be just that and more. His shoulder’s dislocated, his radius is broken in two places and the force of hitting the road gave him a mild concussion.

Guilt floods him. Did he not do the right thing? Should he have been more proactive in getting help? He chews on his lip as he reads the rest of the information given.

“This is more interesting than I thought,” he says to no one in particular.

“It’s right up your alley,” his boss smiles at him. “More to it than meets the eye.”

Her words ring true for some time after their conversation. Dan pushes aside several minor cases to dedicate as much time as possible to getting Phil the justice he deserves. He reads and stalks and searches and copies and pastes relevant pieces of intel until he has a decent collection of evidence to use in a defence case.

He wonders how Phil’s doing, when he’ll meet him again. It’s normal for him to get nervous with clients (thanks to a rather unhealthy mixture of social anxiety and crippling self-doubt) but this case feels different. Personal, even.

Because he was there. He may not have seen it happen, but he certainly heard it. If he closes his eyes, he can hear tires squeal and the tinny crunch of a bicycle underneath those tires. It’s enough to make him shudder.

Something in his brain clicks. The bicycle. He remembers the handlebar bent and the spokes jarred out. Did the car run over the bike after Phil had been knocked off it? Hell, did it run over the bike deliberately? Whoever did this to Phil was clearly on the wrong side of petty.

Rubbing his eyes, he puts any personal connections on the backburner. Of all people, he should know that getting too involved in any case borders on malpractice. However concerned he may be, he can’t risk his career over a man.

Looking back at Phil’s photo, he decides to himself that maybe he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh drama
> 
> i've missed writing this is fun
> 
> also i have a feeling these chapters will be shorter than jfip but whomst knows (sidenote: jfip is nearly at 5k reads what the FUCK that's crazy)
> 
> catch me on tumblr @awrfhi and shout at me to write thank u


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok it's saturday and i'm already posting another chapter this consistency is amazing
> 
> hmu on tumblr @awrfhi :')

A few days later, the date’s been marked for Dan’s first consultation with Phil. He’s been reading over his notes several times to ensure he’s well informed on the situation. Making a mental checklist might have been a step too far, but he’s nothing if not thorough.

At night, he paces around his bedroom and recites the story to himself.

“He was on his way to get a lens fixed when he got hit by a car and thrown off his bike. He remembers seeing the number plate of the car that hit him, then someone coming over and calling an ambulance. Then he remembers waking up in hospital.”

Once the story is rehearsed well enough, he moves on to details about his life.

“He’s an editor at the production company downtown. Has been for the past three years. Doesn’t have any known enemies or any reason to believe someone would be targeting him. No dodgy exes, no estranged family members, nothing.”

He flops down on his bed and sighs. How is he supposed to help this man when he clearly doesn’t want it? So far he’s ignored every single one of Dan’s emails to him. Their only form of contact is through Dan’s boss, and even she’s mentioned how hard it is to get a hold of him.

When his phone flashes with a notification, he realises the time and yawns. Whatever’s keeping him awake can wait for a few hours.

Once he’s changed into some boxers, brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror for slightly too long, he decides it’s time to sleep. He crawls under the covers and tries (unsuccessfully) to block out any intrusive thoughts.

In the days leading up to the first consultation, Dan reads deeper and deeper into his case file until his brain is overloaded. Complete immersion in any case is a bad idea, as he’s been taught enough times, but this is his first case that actually holds any significance.

Sure, he could shout at restaurant employees about the ‘clarity of their menus’ until the cows come home, but this case blows all others out of the water. There’s layers to it; ways in which Phil has phrased certain words that has him constantly second guessing himself, or things to investigate in further detail. For one, it took him an embarrassing length of time to understand the link between the case and the bike incident.

The link? Someone who claimed Phil copied his work and clearly had enough of a vendetta to want to hurt him physically. Technically not a dodgy ex or estranged family member, but someone who’s targeting him. Dan makes a mental note to rethink what he’s been reciting to himself.

Copyright infringement cases are normally simple. Dan’s had a couple in the past, and both were dealt with without too much effort on his part. The first had circumstantial evidence, the second was someone overreacting. They weren’t bland, just not as enticing as what he has in front of him now.

Attacker-in-question and Phil seem to have some history. They both did the same master’s in post-production and video effects, both went to York University beforehand and both have jobs in production (though not the same company, he notes.) If the line was drawn here, it’d be relatively simple to claim that any similarities were due to them having a similar education.

Unfortunately, it isn’t.

Things get worse when Dan watches the two videos in question. Not only have they been edited in the same way, but even the footage is identical. It’s like Phil made a carbon copy of the original without any second thought.

(In all honesty, the film itself is impressive. The end result is a polished and realised concept, with nuances and perfectly timed transitions between clips.)

However good Phil’s video is, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s blatantly plagiarised, something which makes his job that much harder. At this point, he reckons his best option is to explore the accident in more detail. While stealing someone else’s work isn’t exemplary behaviour, causing physical harm to someone has more serious implications.

Hours pass. After writing for so long, his hand’s beginning to stiffen up to the point of cramping. Leaning back in his chair, he looks over what he’s written and laughs humourlessly.

He has so many questions that he almost feels sorry for the amount of interrogation Phil will be subjected to when they meet again. While there’s a first time for everything, this isn’t his first time to screw up and disappoint a client.

Needless to say, he doesn’t sleep much the night before. Manchester has decided to have a sudden bout of cold weather that leaves him shivering under a duvet with his brain whirring a thousand miles a minute.

This time tomorrow, he’ll have answers. This time tomorrow, he’ll be able to say whether he made the right decision in taking on this case or not, whether his eagerness to help a stranger paid off.

He wakes up to a cloudy sky and the sound of his alarm. Groaning, he rolls over to turn it off before heaving himself out of bed. When he catches his reflection in the mirror, he tilts his head and frowns at the dark signs of sleeplessness under his eyes.

When anxiety gets the better of him, he has to take an almost manual approach to how he does things. He makes sure to drink a glass of water, make his bed and find a vaguely clean suit to wear before grabbing his rucksack and heading for the door.

At the office, he finishes off the tea and panini he picked up en route and tries to calm himself down. Phil’s consultation is due to begin in a few hours, and the anxiety from earlier has crept back up again.

Half an hour before, he goes into the room where they’ll be having the consultation. He stops, shakes, sits down. The pile of notes he’s collated looks like simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Too late,” he sighs out loud to himself.

There’s a knock at the door. Phil? His nerves have suddenly short circuited.

“Yes?”

“It’s only me,” a voice replies. He turns around and smiles when he realises it isn’t Phil but the office’s receptionist Elle.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Phil’s here. Phil Lester. Your consultation’s at 3, so you have a few minutes left, but he’s in reception if you want to introduce yourself.”

“Okay. I’ll go now. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Dan follows her out of the door and down a couple of flights of stairs until reception looms ahead. There are a few people milling around, but it’s the man on a chair in the corner that grabs his attention.

_He certainly looks the part_ , he thinks to himself. While most of the people passing by him are in uncomfortably formal attire, he’s the opposite – dark jeans and a sweatshirt and a coat with so many zips it’s a wonder he got into it in the first place. Underneath the coat, Dan can see his left arm is in a sling. His eyes are downcast, focusing on how he can’t keep still.

From a distance, Dan can almost feel the nervous energy radiating off him. It’s comforting to see that he’s not the only one here who doesn’t feel at home. If’s Phil’s as anxious as he is, they can muddle through this lawsuit together just fine.

He pretends to busy himself with his phone as he walks over to where Phil’s sitting. When he’s close enough, Phil looks up.

“Hi,” he says, pocketing his phone. “Phil Lester, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Dan.”

“Dan Howell,” Phil replies, surprisingly coolly for someone who looks like they were about to run away moments ago. “A friend told me about you. Trouble just seems to-”

“Find you?” Dan finishes his sentence while glancing at his sling. “I can tell. I’ve been reading up about your lawsuit, I just need some more specific details of what happened. It’ll help with convincing the judge.”

When Dan’s finished talking, he looks and sees that Phil’s frowning at him.

“Is there a problem?”

Phil stands up and frowns deeper at him.

“You...”

“I...?”

“Have we met before? Your face seems familiar.”

“You don’t remember?”

“If I was drunk, then definitely not.” Phil grins sheepishly.

“You weren’t drunk,” Dan clarifies. “Far from it. If anything, you were high on adrenaline.”

What he says is enough to make Phil freeze. Instead of frowning, he just stares, his features somewhere between confused and surprised. _He’s just made the connection_ , Dan thinks, and suddenly he feels nervous all over again for an entirely different set of reasons.

“I remember you,” he says softly after a small while. “You helped me, didn’t you? Called an ambulance and whatnot.”

“I did. And now I’m here to save you from the utter pile of shit that is this country’s legal system.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You bet. Ready to start the official stuff?”

Phil blinks. “I... guess.”

“Good. We’ve got a room on the third floor for the consultation. The whole thing should be just over an hour depending on what comes up and we can settle payment afterwards.”

“Alright.”

Dan leads the way out of reception, up the stairs and into the designated room. Once they’re inside, Dan shuts the door and sits down on a chair. The sudden rush of air from the door slamming causes his papers to scatter slightly.

“So,” he begins, his cheeks heating up. “Tell me your side of the story. Spare no detail.”

“Didn’t you read the police report?”

Dan grits his teeth. “One – any more smartass comments and I walk out of here and two – I’ve already identified at least 4 things you’ve mentioned that don’t add up. Excuse me for wanting to do my job properly.”

Phil doesn’t reply, instead maintaining his carefully guarded expression. They wait in a silence filled with Dan’s dwindling patience until he repositions himself in his chair and clears his throat.

“Are you ready now?”

Phil nods.

“If you don’t mind, it’d be great if I could record some of our conversation. Obviously I’ll be taking notes, but it’ll help later on, so.” He trails off.

“That’s fine.”

Less than a minute later, Dan gestures that everything’s ready to go.

“Do you want me to describe the accident?”

“You could start with that, I guess,” Dan hums. “I’ll ask you some questions later on.”

“Okay. It... it was a Tuesday or Wednesday when it happened. I was cycling to this repair shop to get a lens fixed. I’d just finished a small job and my boss needed someone to run it down, so I agreed. So I got on my bike and cycled for a bit and the rest is history.”

“What do you mean by ‘history’?” he asks, pushing him further.

“I got knocked off a few minutes later. Someone came over to help me and then I passed out. Woke up in the hospital with my arm screwed up and a concussion.”

Dan pauses the recording.

“There’s your first error.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said you were taking a lens to get repaired. When I saw you, there wasn’t any sign of a broken lens anywhere. No bags, nothing. Just you.”

For a split second, Phil looks almost angry. “The bag must’ve been thrown elsewhere when I fell off.”

“Do you know where the bag is now?”

“No. Boss isn’t too happy with me.”

“One more question: is that the truth?”

Phil’s fists clench and unclench. “Why would I lie?”

“Tell-tale signs. You’ve been avoiding eye contact, fidgeting, scratching behind your ear. Even if you are telling the truth, you don’t seem assured about it.”

“Sorry. It is the truth though.”

“Against my better judgement I’m inclined to believe you,” Dan decides out loud, turning the recording on again. “Now, if you could talk about this case in particular, that’d be great. Connections you have with who’s suing you, why you shouldn’t be sued, etc.”

“Alex is the name of the guy suing me. We went to York together. Never really saw each other. I was studying English and he was doing something to do with Philosophy, I think.”

“It says here that you did the same master’s in post-production and video effects,” he reads off. “What kind of stuff did you get taught? Did you do any projects together?”

“Oh yeah. He was my partner in crime. We used to work on everything together. He’d take the directorial side, I’d edit it afterwards. They were never posted anywhere, but it was fun to make something from scratch and share the experience with someone.”

“After you’d both finished your degrees, did you keep in contact at all?”

“Not much,” Phil frowns. “He reached out a couple of months ago asking if I wanted to collaborate on another project. I agreed. We got a couple of Alex’s friends to act and filmed the entire thing in about a day. It was a short movie, nothing too fancy.”

“And now he’s suing you?”

“Yeah. That was unexpected. Probably because the film I’d edited was miles better than what he’d done and I refused to give it away.”

“You’ve lost me,” Dan says.

“We both edited the same film. He liked mine better and wanted to publish it under his name. I said no. It was my work, and I wouldn’t let him steal what I’d done. We compromised on getting half of the credit each, but he ended up publishing my version on his website. No mention of me anywhere.”

“Why would he sue you then? Surely you should be suing him?”

“Because I published my version on my website too to prove a point. People noticed they were the same. Since he published it first, he sued me for copyright infringement.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Dan grins.

“Tell me about it.”

“Still, this isn’t a monumental case by any means. We just need to prove that you worked on it together and he stole your work. It might help if we can convince the judge that he was the one who knocked you off your bike.”

Phil’s eyes go wide. “Are you allowed to do that? Like, I recognised the number plate of the car but that doesn’t mean it was him.”

“You’re allowed to do pretty much anything in a courtroom if it leads to justice. Now, I think that’s probably a good place to stop. I’ll look into Alex more and see if I can make any connections. Email me if you have any questions.”

“Alright. By the way, is this still being recorded?”

Dan frowns. “I stopped recording a while back. Anything you say now is entirely confidential. Why?”

“Good.” The relief in Phil’s reply is palpable. “There’s one other thing I forgot to mention.”

“Which is?”

Phil leans so far forward that Dan catches the scent of his cologne. He seems calm to the point where Dan wonders what he’s about to say. Dan leans in to meet him and Phil’s breath tickles his ear.

“I killed someone that day.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slightly late update! i've been sick rip
> 
> i hope u enjoy, hmu on tumblr @awrfhi <3

He says it so quietly that Dan barely catches it, but when he hears it, he knows what he heard. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach as the weight of Phil’s sudden outburst sinks in.

“That changes things.”

Phil refuses to meet his eyes, instead choosing to study the table in front of him.

“I... could you give me a couple of minutes?”

He hardly waits for a reply until he’s out of the room and down the corridor. His brain is on autopilot, commanding his feet to run to the bathroom and open the door and shove into a cubicle and pull the seat up. As soon as he reaches it, he doesn’t even try to stop the bile that rises up his throat and past his lips, making his mouth burn with acid and his eyes water. He coughs and chokes and splutters until his stomach is empty and his head is spinning.

Once he’s flushed, he scrapes his hair off his forehead and sits back on his feet. Every inch of his body is shaking, wracked with confusion and uncertainty. When he raises his hand in front of him and wills himself to keep it stable, it still trembles.

The biggest question floating in his head is _why_? What would possess Phil to kill someone, to willingly end their life? The possibilities stretch onwards.

It takes him nearly 10 minutes of staring at his worryingly pale reflection and rinsing his mouth out with water until he feels ready to return to Phil. He hired him for a reason, and even though he’s just confessed to something very serious, if it isn’t related to his current case the best thing to do is brush it under the carpet.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers out loud to himself.

Since when had he willingly turned a blind eye to a client murdering someone? He’d never had one-to-one experience with it, but he’d gone through the training. A confession like that should be reported to the authorities and dealt with, not left to linger and rot.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he decides to wait. Maybe there’s a way out of this. Maybe what Phil said isn’t as bad as he’s made it out to be.

When Dan finally slumps back into his seat, Phil peels his eyes away from the table.

There’s a silence that’s so quiet it’s earsplitting, briefly punctuated with the idle ticking of Dan’s watch and murmurs of noise from outside. Everything suddenly feels so far away.

“I probably shouldn’t have said it like that,” Phil says at last.

Dan waves a dismissive hand. “There’s n-no easy way of saying something like that.”

Phil doesn’t reply immediately, instead letting his eyes run over Dan. Although he makes no mention of it, Dan can tell he’s spotted the sweat patches and suspicious stains on his shirt. He feels his cheeks warm up again, the heat spreading along every inch of his skin.

“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding so sincere it almost snaps Dan out of his dizzy state.

“That’s what I should be asking you.”

“I could leave? Or-”

“Don’t leave,” Dan cuts him off. “Not so soon. You need to explain.”

Phil promptly shuts up, sitting back in his chair. His hands are preoccupied with his sleeves, repeatedly rolling them up and down in a kind of rehearsed way as if to calm himself down. Dan feels a pang of sympathy. His world must be so broken and so full of chaos that even a nervous reflex provides a brief source of comfort.

“I...” Phil begins, barely able to get the words out. “I was at his house.”

“His?”

“Alex’s.”

Dan inhales sharply. “You killed Alex?”

“Maybe.” Panic is slowly beginning to seep into his voice. “I think so.”

“You don’t know,” he says.

“I don’t,” Phil confirms. “It was an accident, but I just... it was bad.”

“Bad enough to think he’s dead.”

They sit in silence, lost for words. Dan looks over to Phil and sees him pinching the bridge of his nose, his head bowed down. After studying his body language, Dan comes to the conclusion that Phil’s being honest, almost too honest to the point where it’s eating away at him, tearing him apart from the inside out.

He watches as Phil pulls his fingers away and wipes at his eyes aggressively, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. He watches Phil and his mind floats back to the first time he read the case file, to when this all started. He watches until his vision is ever so slightly blurred, his mind toying with a decision that would save Phil’s life and ruin his.

Perverting the course of justice puts his career in unspeakable danger and destroys everything he’s worked so hard to achieve. It puts his reputation and his friends on the line – hell, even his family. He doesn’t think he could face his parents if they found out what he’s trying to do. No more Christmases together, no more weekend phone calls, no chance in hell of him ever returning to Reading, nothing. It’s too much for him to process.

If he helps him, Phil can get closure from what seems to be an unfortunate situation and go back to normality. But the alternative means just as much pain for both of them.

Unless...

 _Oh God_ , he thinks. _Oh God_.

Lawyers are supposed to come up with solutions for multiple problems at once, to prepare for all eventualities. A piece of advice he mentioned to Phil in passing comes back to him.

 _You’re allowed to do pretty much anything in a courtroom if it leads to justice_.

Something akin to a plan forms in his head. Sure, this puts his career at risk, but who doesn’t love a little danger now and then?

His thoughts are quickly spiralling. From the looks of things, it seems like Phil’s are too.

“I have an idea,” he says quietly.

Phil’s eyes snap up.

“An idea?”

“I said I was going to save you from the pile of shit that this country’s legal system is. I’m sticking to my word.”

“What’s the idea?” Phil asks.

“I need to know what happened first,” Dan replies. “And where Alex is now.”

 

* * *

 

Phil pounds the door until his fist starts to ache.

It was probably a stupid idea to think that Alex would want to talk things over, but it’s worth a shot. He doesn’t have the kind of money that Alex is demanding, and he certainly isn’t going down without a fight.

The longer he waits, the more wound up he becomes. If Alex hadn’t decided to sue him for publishing a video which _he_ edited, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He could be at home with a book and some hot chocolate, wrapped up in a blanket and far away from any of his problems. But he isn’t. He’s stood on a porch, and all his problems are staring at him square in the face.

To be honest, he shouldn’t have agreed to the project in the first place. His own work is doing well enough for itself without the help of a pretentious twat who still unironically wears beanies and knitted cardigans. Sure, it was fun at the time, but he’s looking at the past with the opposite of rose-tinted glasses now and it seems like a lot of hassle for little in return.

Alex just so happens to be wearing that exact combination when he finally decides to open the door. If Phil was angry before, he reckons he deserves an Oscar for how nonchalant he’s coming across. There isn’t a single part of this man he doesn’t find annoying.

“Phil!” he says, feigning excitement. “What brings you here?”

“Cut the crap, Lawson,” he replies blandly. “Can I come in?”

Alex opens the door wider and wanders back to his kitchen. Phil enters and slams the door behind him, not bothering to take off his shoes before following Alex inside.

“Fancy anything?”

“I don’t plan on staying too long.”

“Nice try. You can have what I’m having.”

Phil grumbles and sits on the sofa shoved against the far wall of the kitchen. Alex pours two glasses of water and hands one to him.

“I thought you didn’t drink tap water.”

Alex shrugs, leaning on the counter. “Times have been tough.”

“Is that why you’re making me cough up £10000? To help you pay the bills so you can go back to sipping Fiji and stealing other people’s work?”

“Christ, Phil. It’s my work too.”

“It’s your work full stop, apparently.”

“I get it, okay! I get it. I shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit.”

“Then take it back. Cancel it.”

“That’s not how lawsuits work.”

“I don’t care,” he fires back. “It can’t go to court.”

“There isn’t enough time to reverse it.”

Phil sighs and sets his water down. He doesn’t want to be angry, but his entire body is filled with the urge to find some kind of release, to kick and scream and flail until Alex does something. The longer he sits, the longer time ticks on. He feels like there’s a countdown happening, like the time he has here is limited before he lashes out and does something he regrets.

“Please, Alex,” he whispers, his voice on the verge of breaking. “I don’t have the money.”

Alex suddenly reacts in the most unexpected way that Phil’s taken aback. He _laughs_. The sound of it reverberates through him, shattering any hope he had of coming to an agreement.

“Oh, I knew that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Of course you don’t have the money,” he taunts. “All the more reason to lead you into bankruptcy.”

Phil’s anger dissolves into fear. He stands up and makes his way to the door, but Alex sidesteps and blocks his only exit. Now they’re face to face, and Phil decides that coming here was a stupid idea after all.

“I don’t understand,” he says, his heart pounding in his chest. “What’s the point of making me bankrupt?”

“Good question,” Alex hums in reply. “There’s no real point. Maybe you just need someone to bring you down to earth.”

“You can do that without basically ruining my life.”

“True,” he agrees. “I just don’t want to.”

“You still haven’t answered the question,” Phil points out. “Are you jealous? Vindictive? Or are you just an asshole who decided to pick on someone who’s already pretty defenceless?”

“‘Jealous’ isn’t the right word. I’m not afraid you’re going to take what I have.”

“So you’re just an asshole. Good to know. If that’s all you have to say then I’ll be on my way.”

When Phil steps forward, Alex does too. Moments later, his hands fly out and shove Phil backwards. The suddenness of it causes him to stumble and flop back down on the sofa, all the oxygen ripped from his lungs. Coughing, he clutches his shoulder.

Adrenaline floods his veins. Although Alex isn’t coming towards him, his body is fully in fight or flight mode, ready to get out and run away at any given moment.

He’s as confused as ever. Back when they were on friendlier terms, Alex was never this aggressive. Their dynamic as a director and editor worked liked a well-oiled machine; it was smooth and efficient to the point where he believed they could be something more than just two sad students.

He decides to say this out loud, in a voice so low that he thinks Alex probably misses it.

“That’s a lie,” Alex hisses. “You knew you were better than me the whole fucking time.”

Phil stands up again and the world spins slightly. “No I didn’t! How am I any better than you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You’ve always been the one people paid attention to. Whenever people talked to me about our work they’d say how incredible the production was. It’s like I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve never mentioned that before.”

“There was no point. You’d just brush it off.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do!” he retorts. “I had no way of making you feel how hopeless I felt.”

Things snap into place. Alex’s confession confirms everything Phil suspects. Panic and freshly renewed anger swirl inside him, tightening his chest and making his breathing spiky and rapid.

“So that’s why.”

Alex simply nods.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’m leaving for good now.”

He takes a few cautious steps towards the door. This time, Alex makes no attempt to stop him. Phil treads slowly and carefully, listening for if Alex tries to do anything else.

One, two, three, four-

A floorboard creaks behind him. Phil has barely any time to duck out of the way before Alex lunges past him. Pressing his back to the wall, he watches as Alex whips around and grabs him by his shoulders, his fingers pressing into his flesh like vices.

To try to defend himself, Phil grabs Alex’s shoulders and pushes him back as hard as he can. He regrets it as soon as it happens. Phil’s by no means strong, but compared to Alex he is. Alex falls back and reaches a hand out to the wall to try to stop himself.

It’s no use. With nothing to cushion his fall, his head lands against his front door. There’s a sickening crack, the likes of which Phil thinks he’ll never unhear, then silence.

He can’t look. Partly shielding his eyes with his hands, he turns to where Alex is lying on the floor and he flinches.

His limbs are splayed like a marionette, unmoving and contorted at strange angles. His beanie – his _stupid_ fucking beanie, has nearly completely slid off his head. He’s out like a candle, Phil knows that much, but the crack was so loud that he can’t tell what damage has been done.

“No,” he whispers to himself. “No. No!”

Shaking, he runs back into Alex’s house, trying to find a way out that doesn’t involve stepping over a potentially dead body that he was the cause of. At one end of the kitchen, there’s a door that leads to a small garden and Phil sighs with relief. Every second longer he spends in here drives him more insane.

The door isn’t locked as Phil shoves through it. As he’s about to close the door behind him, he hears a noise – a knock? He can’t be sure.

“Alex?” A muffled voice says.

His limbs don’t move as quickly as he’d like them to, but the raw energy pumping through his system spurs him to close the door behind him and run to the end of the garden to hide. At the end, there’s a bike leaning against a wall beside a gate. With his options slim, he grabs the bike and the helmet dangling from it and hurries through the gate.

Out in public, he takes several nervous breaths.

 _He’s dead and it’s your fault_ , the voice in his head screams at him. He wants to shout and cry and do everything at once, but he’s frozen. What’s the point in doing anything? He’s just killed someone. It might have been an accident, but nobody’s going to believe him.

_You’re a murderer. They can track your DNA on his clothes. You’ll have to go to jail. You’re a murderer. YOU’RE A MURDERER._

With his hands trembling beyond control, he slides his helmet on. It takes a stupid number of attempts to clip on the strap under his chin, but he’s in such a state of anxiety that he can’t bring himself to care.

Everything is spiralling quicker than he imagined. He eventually gets on Alex’s bike and starts pedalling, his legs still wobbly. He knows the route from here to his apartment like the back of his hand, but what if the police have already found out? What if they’re tracking him from a helicopter? It’s too risky.

At the road where he normally turns left he goes straight on into the busier part of town. With the continued pedalling his legs are slowly starting to shudder less but his mind is still racing with a million possibilities and unanswered questions.

“You have time to think when you get home,” he mumbles, the wind whipping his face.

Less than a minute later, he’s thrown off his bike.

 

* * *

 

“So you don’t know where he is?” Dan asks after a lengthy silence. Phil sits back in his chair, wide-eyed and on the verge of another round of crying.

“No.” His voice is thick and choked. “He could still be there, on the floor.”

“But you mentioned a knock at the door,” he counters. “There’s a possibility someone found him. He could still be alive.”

“I could have been imagining things,” Phil says. “Maybe I wanted to believe someone could help him. I-I don’t know, but it’s my fault and I-”

He trails off, more tears streaming down his face. Dan frowns at him, wishing there was some source of comfort he could provide.

“You were just defending yourself,” he argues. “He attacked you first. Besides, he admitted that what he did was wrong. We can tell that to the judge. It’s valid evidence.”

“I don’t care!” Phil yells. “There’s no case if I killed him! I’m going to jail!”

“Phil.”

Dan can’t think of what to say. His papers are completely filled up with notes he took while Phil was recounting the story. There’s endless words inked onto dotted lines and endless words in the dictionary but none of them are _right_. None of them are strong enough to convince Phil that he’s not the murderer he’s painted himself out to be.

“Your plan probably isn’t much use now,” Phil murmurs, sniffling.

“It was a dumb plan to begin with,” he replies. “That’s part of law. You come up with plans and if those plans don’t work you replace them with new ones.”

“Do you have a new one?”

“I do, so listen up.”

Phil mimes zipping his mouth shut.

“Have you ever deleted texts?”

Phil gives him a puzzled look. “No.”

“Then I need you to go back through your texts with Alex and find anything that proves the video isn’t just his. If we can prove that then it makes it a hell of a lot harder for him to sue you. As for the bike accident, that’s a different story.”

“How so?”

“That’s the backup plan. If in the worst case scenario it turns out that Alex is dead, that accident’s your alibi. A get out of jail free card, if you will.”

“But they... couldn’t they track the bike?”

“I think you’re overestimating the forensics they’re capable of doing. Besides, it got pretty smashed up in the crash. By now it’s probably been melted down and repurposed.”

“Oh yeah.”

There’s a pause. Compared to how he was before, Phil seems a lot calmer. Dan feels calmer too. He hasn’t taken on a case with some kind of murderous animal like he’d feared, but someone who made a mistake and seems convinced that they deserve the worst form of punishment for it.

Glancing at his watch, Dan realises that they’ve spent almost 2 hours in this consultation. Most of his only last for just under an hour. His eyes widen.

“Shit. It’s nearly 5.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t check the time. You probably have places to be.”

Dan hurriedly collects his papers together and slots them back into the card file. Soon after, he’s out of his chair with Phil following suit.

“I’ll email you about payment details,” he decides. “It can be done through PayPal.”

“Okay.”

“Actually... I’ll give you my number instead. It’ll be easier to reach me that way.”

“That’s a bit unprofessional,” Phil comments, but there’s a glint in his eye that seems to say that he doesn’t mind at all.

“Taking on this case was unprofessional in the first place,” Dan mutters, handing his phone over.

Once Phil’s entered himself as a contact, he hands the phone back and makes his way to the door. Before leaving, he turns around.

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Dan chuckles softly. “You’re very welcome. It’s what I do. Oh, and there’s one other thing I forgot to mention.”

Phil remains silent, his forehead ever so slightly creased.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @awrfhi :')

Dan spends the rest of the afternoon sitting in that same room, trying to process what’s just happened. However hard he tries, it’s impossible not to dwell on the sudden turn this case has taken – from such humble beginnings, it’s quickly developed into something that occupies his every waking hour for better or for worse.

Phil’s version of events already has red flags. The most glaringly obvious issue is the fact that he doesn’t even know if Alex is dead or alive. If what he suspects is true, the list of repercussions is a headache waiting to happen.

(He knows how bad that sounds, but if he developed personal attachments to everyone involved in every case he’d go insane.)

Seeing as Phil pushed Alex, the potential charges range from negligent homicide (at a stretch) to first degree murder. Each of the outcomes makes Dan more and more nervous. Yes, criminal law is a goal he’s been working towards, but now he’s finally had a taste of what it’s like and he isn’t sure what he wants from life anymore.

On the other hand, Alex being alive poses the same amount of issues. From a practical point of view, where is he? Is he in hospital? Did someone find him and send for help? Is there a chance he won’t make it? Dan feels like he’s walking on eggshells.

If Alex is well enough to tell the police what happened, an investigation could already be underway – an investigation that would place Phil at Alex’s house the same day the accident happened. It’s a vicious cycle, one where life and death are equally important and equally destructive.

Sighing under his breath, he collects his things together and decides to leave the office. He has nothing keeping him here anymore, and he desperately needs some fresh air and something to distract himself with.

Once he’s made his way to his office he grabs his rucksack, shoves his belongings in it and turns everything off. He waves goodbye to a couple of colleagues and Elle when he reaches her.

“You’re leaving early,” she comments.

“I’ll work the rest of the day at home,” he replies, his voice almost shaky.

She picks up on this immediately, looking up from her computer. Her face softens into an expression that’s somewhere between concern and sympathy. She’s known him long enough to know when he’s putting on a façade or when he’s not telling the truth.

“Change your plans,” she says decisively.

Dan frowns. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re coming to get dinner with me so you can talk about what’s bothering you.”

A laugh falls from his lips. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. I just know when you’re not yourself.”

“Where would we go?”

“That cute pizzeria down the road. The one that you like.”

The sheer amount of work in his rucksack needing to be done causes the strap to dig into his shoulder. He absentmindedly chews on his lip, trying to make up his mind.

As much as he’d love to spend some time catching up with a friend, he’s already snowed under as it is. Besides, it isn’t like he can spill the entire case to her. For one, he’d immediately break every client confidentiality rule in the book.

_You also happen to have an almost-murder case in your hands_ , his brain reminds him.

Even if he could, he wouldn’t trust her to not tell other people. That’s the problem with Dan’s job. No matter how close he is to his friends, he can’t breathe a single word to them. He’s not sure they’d even want to listen to what he does every day for a living.

Elle’s the exception to that rule. He’s watched endless crime drama boxsets with her and critiqued how badly they portray lawyers, or how they sugarcoat what it’s really like. Of course they do. It’s the reality of life – humans need some form of escape from the everyday. Having their own problems thrown back in their faces through a TV screen doesn’t sound like the best form of entertainment.

“You’re overthinking,” she notes, pulling him back to his senses. “Stop.”

“I can’t help it,” he defends himself.

“What’s up?”

“The usual. There’s too much to do and I’m in a shit mood.”

“That’s exactly the reason why you need a break,” she reasons.

“Maybe.”

“Fucking hell Dan, _please_. Please come and get dinner with me. I promise it’ll be good for you.”

Dan reckons that if she has to resort to begging, it’d frankly be rude to refuse the dinner offer now. She does have a point, after all. A few greasy slices of pizza and some garlic bread sound delicious.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

Elle exhales audibly. “I’ll get my coat and we can go.”

When she’s returned, she’s wearing a raincoat that’s black and adorned with numerous decorative zips. Dan’s mind travels elsewhere momentarily before snapping into focus. In the time he’s been daydreaming, she’s made it out of the building and nearly crossed the road without him.

As he makes his way towards her, he studies her silhouette and her long, soft legs and her hair that’s been fiercely chopped into a bob. She turns around to see where he is and the sun catches her cheekbones in a way that most people would find beautiful.

He’s being harsh. She _is_ beautiful, with kind eyes and model worthy bone structure. When she smiles in recognition, her face lights up, exposing her slightly lopsided teeth. Dan smiles in reply as he catches up.

He thinks back to when he used to look at her and wonder if there was anything there worth pursuing. The arm that casually slings around his shoulder would have panicked him once upon a time, but now, it’s a different curiosity that fills him – a friendly one.

Over the years, the nervous uncertainty has fizzled into a familiar warmth, warmth that’s all consuming and gentle and safe. She’s one of the few people he knows who he can trust with anything, and probably would if he was allowed to.

Deep down, he knows that’s not entirely honest. Thoughts he had mere minutes ago creep back; how good of a friend can he be if he struggles to trust someone he’s known for the best part of a decade? Someone who got him to where he is today?

Now’s not the time. It’ll probably never be the right time, but he has enough self-awareness to know when his daydreams are being picked up by other people.

Outside of himself, it’s a fairly decent day for once. September is bleeding into October with bitter air and cotton candy skies and a sun that hangs low within it. The pink rays illuminate puddles that they walk past on their way to what might be Dan’s favourite place on Earth apart from his bedroom.

As soon as they step inside, he feels like he never left. It still has the same blackboard menu and tomatoey scent from the last time he was here. ‘Home away from home’ feels like a pretty accurate description.

Elle slides into a booth with Dan quickly following suit. He doesn’t even need to read the menu before he’s decided what he’s having. She rolls her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Who decided to bring me here?” he retaliates.

“Touché.”

A waiter approaches. Dan gives him a quick once-over and decides that he’s fairly attractive, with hair slightly lighter than his and a pretty freckle by the corner of his mouth.

The realisation that _boys are actually kind of incredible_ was one that took a while to come to terms with. He smiles to himself and appreciates how much he’s grown as a person before the waiter interrupts his train of thought.

“Hi there,” he begins, his voice as friendly as can be expected from someone who’s probably stressed out of their mind and constantly second guessing why they decided to take up a job that involves talking to strangers. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, sure,” Dan replies. “I’ll have a diet Coke.”

“Suit yourself,” Elle mutters under her breath. “And a bottle of Rioja, please.”

The waiter smiles and leaves them alone for a small while. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Dan whips his head round and sees that Elle’s done the exact same thing. They chuckle at how utterly dumb they are sometimes.

“We’re thinking the same thing,” she says, the laughter dying down.

“We are, aren’t we? About the waiter.”

She nods. “He’s the perfect blend of what we’re both into. I like lighter hair. You like guys who can’t string a sentence together.”

Dan guffaws, his hands covering his mouth to muffle the sound. Elle has a raw bluntness to her that still catches him off guard.

“He wasn’t that bad,” he protests. “By the way, I absolutely do _not_ have a thing for awkwardness.”

“You have a thing for people who make you feel better about yourself.”

When the waiter’s in earshot, they keep their voices down. He’s gone as quickly as he came, leaving two bottles and two glasses behind on the table.

“D’you reckon coke and wine’s a decent combination?” he asks, pointedly ignoring what she said before.

“Sounds disgusting. You should do it.”

The combination is just as disgusting as it sounds. Dan idly sips on it while Elle pours herself a glass of wine and takes a swig. They fill several minutes drinking entirely too much wine for a Tuesday night, but he can’t find it within himself to care. He’s needed a break like this for too long.

For the first time in ages, Dan finds he can relax and talk and simply be content with life for as long as the night continues. Elle’s one of those people who can hold a steady conversation with a rock, a skill she employs when trying to weasel information out of him. She’s yet to do that, but he braces himself for it regardless.

He thinks she’s about to when the waiter comes brandishing a notebook. He pumps his fist under the table. The man has impeccable timing.

“Are you ready to order?”

Elle nods.

“Alright. What can I get for you two?”

“A margherita to share and a side of garlic bread, please.”

When the waiter’s left for what’s hopefully the final time, Dan takes a thoughtful slurp.

“He seems nice. You should get his number.”

“First of all, I’m technically still in a relationship. Second of all, -”

“Sorry, what?” Dan interjects. “Since when?”

“It really has been too long,” Elle says, frowning. “We’ve been on for just over a month now.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s so creative and sensitive and caring. Loves exercise and art and whatnot. Oh, and he makes the best omelettes.”

“How come I haven’t met him?”

Her face falls.

“Things have been... busy, I guess. Maybe in a few weeks?”

“I can live with that.”

Elle replies with a half-smile. The pizza arrives before he has time to question her further. He pulls a slice off the plate and takes a bite from it, savouring the cheese and salt and tomato and basil like he’s never eaten a day in his life. Elle seems quietly grateful for the drop in conversation, chewing on her own slice and taking intermittent sips of wine.

“You didn’t even tell me his name,” he mentions, testing the waters. He pretends not to notice how the corners of her lips fall.

“AJ,” she replies, her mouth full of pizza.

“Well, he’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have him, too. It’s weird saying that out loud, but I am. I don’t know.”

“He’s turned you into a sap,” Dan teases.

“Fuck right off, Howell. If anyone’s the sap it’s you.”

“How am I remotely sappy?”

“You’ve called me after so many dates! Every time it’s ‘he’s the one’ or ‘I can see a future with her.’ Then you either end up fucking or never speaking again and two weeks later the cycle repeats itself.”

“That’s not sappy,” Dan defends himself. “That’s just me making bad choices.”

Elle rips off a hunk of garlic bread. “Maybe. You’re going to have to break the cycle one day.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it gives me something to do, something to look forward to, something to... I don’t know. Life’s full of monotony. Maybe a one night stand with someone every once in a while keeps me entertained.”

“Damn.” She huffs out a laugh. “Are things that bad?”

“I’m just being melodramatic. I knew we shouldn’t have got wine. Alcohol turns me into a teenager.”

“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.”

“Shut up! I’m not even drunk!”

“The point still stands.”

Dan sighs and stares at the almost empty plate in front of him. She’d taken him out to dinner to get away from himself, not dive deeper into everything troubling him right now. He knows she means well, she really does, he just doesn’t need this. It feels like too much at once.

“Fine. I’m lonely.”

“And that’s what’s been bothering you,” she replies, her voice lofty like she’s suddenly become the female version of Sherlock. “You get dicked down or dick other people down to fill some void within you. That’s not healthy.”

“Sex is a great way of staying in shape,” he defends himself.

“You know that’s not what I meant. What I meant is... you need to get out of this hole you’ve dug yourself into. You can’t live like this forever.”

“You’re right.” He frowns.

“I know I am. You – no, um. No. You need to focus on what makes you forget you’re in the hole.”

Dan snickers. “I fill physical holes to fill emotional holes.”

“Not helping. I’ll rephrase – you need to focus on things that make you feel less shit.”

“Do I have to give examples?”

“Go on then.”

“I guess work makes me happy,” he starts. “Cases are fun to work on. Challenging, but fun.”

“See! That’s good! Hold onto that. Things’ll get better.”

“Thanks, Beaufort.”

“Anytime, Howell.”

Outside, the moon arches high in the sky. Dan’s watch reads 9:18, and he’s surprised at just how much time he’s spent with Elle eating pizza and talking about nothing even remotely appropriate for a public restaurant.

The days are getting shorter. When they’ve paid for the food and step out into the open, the lack of light and warmth becomes uncomfortably apparent. Dan pulls his coat tighter over his shoulders and crosses his arms to retain what little heat he has left.

Elle and Dan part ways shortly after, with a small hug and a promise to see each other more often. Then he’s left alone with the emptiness of Manchester in the dark and the weight of his thoughts.

He hates this. He hates getting paid to save people’s lives while his own life spirals further and further apart. He hates how his hands shake when he does even the tiniest of actions because he’s too afraid of what he can do. He hates early mornings and lukewarm showers and an endless list of things.

At least those things are manageable. Early mornings come with steaming mugs of tea, showers come with towels pressed onto steamy skin. There’s warmth, a light at the end of the tunnel. Life doesn’t want to cooperate with him in this case. Low mood doesn’t come with warmth or light or contentment. It slowly gnaws away at whatever good he has inside of him until he feels like a collection of flesh and blood.

He tries so often to feel things, but feelings are fleeting at best. His feet make wet noises when he steps in puddles and he tries to imagine water between his toes but it’s no use.

It’s no use.

When he’s unlocked the door to his apartment and slammed it behind him, he trudges into his bedroom, strips and collapses on his bed.

A few hours later, the sun is just beginning to rise. Squinting in the sudden burst of light, he rolls over and stares at how the sun paints his bedroom wall with luminescent stripes. His mind is now fully awake, so he lies and breathes deeply and marvels at how his view looks like something he’d see on his Instagram feed.

From Instagram, he trails to photography, then cameras, then – an idea pops into his head. Not just any idea, a pretty damn amazing-but-also-dangerous idea.

Slumping out of bed, he goes to his rucksack and pulls out Phil’s case file before sliding back under the covers and propping his head up with a pillow. He flicks through police reports until he finds what he’s looking for – Phil’s workplace.

By the looks of things, it’s a fairly niche production company that isn’t too far for him to walk to. Typing the address into his phone, he sees it’s 15 minutes away and frowns in halfhearted approval. Sex isn’t the only form of exercise he partakes in.

After treating himself to a cooked breakfast and a hot shower, he slips into an outfit that’s somewhere between smart and casual and tries to tame his slowly curling hair. His efforts are in vain and he sighs. Not that Phil would care if his hair’s curlier than usual – hell, he doesn’t even know that Dan’s planning on visiting him in the first place.

Hopefully his surprise will die down when Dan tells him about his plan (at least, that’s his aim.) It’s nothing massively risky, it just involves toying with the truth a little. Nothing he hasn’t done before, but Phil on the other hand... he might need convincing.

On the walk to his sudden new destination, he decides to text Elle to let her know he’ll be a little later than usual and _yes it’s work related I’m not that much of an idiot_. She replies and says she’s got him covered. He smiles at his phone and checks to see if he’s walking in the right direction.

Up ahead, a sign promoting job offers for budding photographers hints that he’s come the right way. Shouldering his rucksack, he makes his way to the door and knocks.

“Hello?” a voice says after opening the door. It belongs to someone who looks like she’s still in school, with a youthful face and wispy hair tied up into a bun.

“Hi there!” he replies calmly. “I’m looking for Phil Lester?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! my uploads won't be as frequent/well organised as i'd like for them to be because i'm flaky and snowed under with work . what can u do
> 
> hmu over on tumblr @awrfhi <3

The woman’s face lights up in recognition.

“Gotcha. Did you book a meeting with him?”

“Oh, no,” Dan responds, surprised with how easily the fake story flows. “I’m an old friend of his. I was just wondering whether he’s available for a few minutes? It’d be great to catch up.”

“How lovely! Of course. Could I get your name quickly?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s... James. James Sinclair.”

The woman looks slightly uneasy before her face breaks into a gentle smile. “Sure, James.” She scribbles Dan’s clearly fabricated name into a notebook. “I’ll go and get him for you. You can come in if you’d like? Have a seat or something.”

“That’d be great. Thank you.” he says, following her inside.

From what looks like a nondescript building on the outside, it defies every expectation he’d had. It’s definitely on the unconventional side, with no formal reception or buzz that he’s used to in other workplaces, but the small entrance area he’s standing in is airy and pleasant.

While the woman goes to find Phil, he sits down on one of the plush seats and sets his rucksack on his lap. He’s left it deliberately emptier than usual to facilitate what he plans on doing later.

(That is, if Phil lets him do it. The more he thinks about the half-plan he’s come up with, the more it gets equally better and worse.)

It had been after reading Phil’s case file and going through the notes he’d made that something had clicked. He’d talked about taking a lens to get repaired, but his story seems to suggest that he cycled directly from Alex’s house. Since the two don’t add up, he’s lying about something.

Lying in general isn’t a massive problem. He’s been around long enough to not expect strangers to be completely truthful. It starts becoming a problem when you lie to the police, and that’s why he’s here today.

If Phil’s here, the plan is to steal a lens and smash it in some remote location. Depending on how much he paid for it, the idea will probably piss him off. Dan doesn’t care. Phil’s already pissed him off, and _lex talionis_ is one of the only official terms he actually remembers from university.

A small security camera nestled in the top corner of the entrance hall winks at him. He frowns internally, hoping that there won’t be any more in Phil’s office or wherever he works. He knows Phil’s an editor, but he still isn’t entirely sure what he does on a day-to-day basis.

When the woman returns with a sceptical looking Phil by her side, any worries disappear. Part of him is grateful that he did so many plays as a kid. All the hours of acting lessons come in handy right about now.

“Phil!” he beams, standing up and setting his rucksack down. “It’s been forever! Get over here!”

Phil’s eyes scream _what the actual fuck Dan_ as Dan hurries over and throws his arms around him, squeezing momentarily before letting go. It’s a little uncomfortable with Phil’s cast and how little they know each other, but it’s convincing enough for Tess to make a small noise of fondness.

By the time Dan’s pulled back, he thinks Phil now understands what’s happening. A strained smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

“Dan!” Phil replies, his voice dripping with honeyed excitement. “What – what are you doing here?”

“I’m in the area for a while. Thought I’d pop in. But enough about me. How have you been?”

“Things have been good, yeah,” he says, relaxing into the conversation slightly. “I have my own office now. Fancy having a look around?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Then let’s go mate!” Phil suggests, slapping his shoulder a little too roughly.

Dan retrieves his rucksack before joining Phil, who’s talking to the woman who just witnessed the closest thing to live theatre either of them will probably ever do.

“Thanks, Tess.”

Tess grins and heads off in the other direction. Phil (with a pointed gaze his way) leads Dan to his office, his walk leisurely enough to keep up the pretence Dan sprung on him in case anyone else questions what’s going on.

Phil’s office is situated in what Dan can only assume was once a living room which has been repurposed. There’s an old fireplace carved into the far wall, with a row of cameras adorning the mantelpiece above it. In the other corner lies a desk heaped with paperwork and odd scraps of material. As Dan walks in further, he turns to see that the wall behind him is painted green.

Looking up, he sees nothing in the way of security cameras. Phil follows his gaze and huffs quietly.

“To answer your question, no there aren’t any cameras in here. Or microphones, if you were curious.”

He goes and sits by his desk. Dan lingers awkwardly by the door.

“That’s good.”

“Sure.” Silence. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“It was only a matter of time before you asked,” Dan mutters in reply. “I have something to do and you’re going to help me.”

“Am I?” Phil drawls.

“Yes, actually. You are.”

“What am I going to help you with, then?”

Dan slings his rucksack to the floor and walks over to the fireplace. “You have any spare lenses?”

“I’m sorry?”

“If you’re going to fake a story to the police the very least you can do is be consistent with it,” Dan hums, resting his fingers on the cool marble of the mantelpiece. “You said you were taking a lens to get repaired when you got hit by a car.”

Phil’s face hardens. “I was.”

“That’s funny. You never mentioned it yesterday.”

“Dan, is this really necessary? I mean-”

“Yes it is,” Dan cuts him off. “It’s necessary because you’ve conjured up a bullshit story to the police to cover up the fact that you potentially murdered someone that day.”

“You don’t know for sure,” Phil stutters, going pale.

“Let’s just assume he is, yeah? Let’s assume you’ve killed a man and told lies to the police. If they find out you’ve lied and that you were actually, I don’t know, _at his house_ the same day he died, that causes problems for both of us. I may be a lawyer but I’m no magician.”

“Fine. I might have lied.”

“Rephrase that.”

“I... did lie.”

“Good. Now that we’ve established that, I can move on to my idea.”

Phil leans back in his chair and waits for Dan to continue.

“We’re going to take one of your lenses and smash it. I’m going to leave an arsey review on your website about how you didn’t have the fisheye I wanted. Your boss will see it and probably question you about it. You say how it got destroyed in the car accident. Voilà.”

“Like hell we are,” Phil snaps, launching himself out of his seat and over to where Dan’s standing. “Do you know how expensive a fisheye is? A good quality one is £300 minimum! I can’t let that kind of money just go down the drain!”

Dan shrugs. “Does your company not have some kind of budget for that?”

Phil doesn’t reply, his eyes glued to the lens he seems eager to hold onto. Dan stares at him until he finally looks up. Their eyes meet, and the gap between them is filled with anger and unanswered questions and something else Dan can’t quite pinpoint – curiosity, maybe? He’s not too sure.

The pair stand there simply dwelling in a moment in time and _oh_ , Phil’s eyes are so blue and so stormy. They flicker down to his arm, which is resting on the mantelpiece, then further down still. The sheer obviousness of his actions is enough to make heat prickle at the back of Dan’s neck.

_Two can play this game_ , he thinks to himself. His eyes leave Phil’s gaze and travel along the curve of his nose, the dip of his Cupid’s bow, the prominence of his Adam’s apple and the soft, sparse tuft of hair that peeks out the top of his shirt which is slightly too big for him. It hangs off his frame and exposes the expanse of skin between his neck and shoulders where he can just about see his collarbones peeking out and –

No. He has to stop before this becomes too weirdly intimate. Dan shakes his head slightly, upset with his unprofessional he’s being. He’s never done that with a client in his life before, regardless of how attractive he thought they were.

Attractive. Phil. Phil’s attractive. _Well, that makes things worse_. Infinitely worse. How is he supposed to concentrate on the task at hand when his brain is so preoccupied with his sudden revelation? How is he going to continue seeing this man in a completely professional manner when all he’ll be able to think about is the sheer fact that he’s into him?

“They do,” Phil starts, tearing Dan from his overactive mind. “So technically they could finance the purchase of a replacement lens.”

“Perfect,” he replies, a little too cheerily. “We can get it done with now, then.”

Phil grumbles. “I really don’t want to do this.”

“It’s either that or a life sentence. I’m pretty sure this is the easier way out.”

“Fine.”

Dan takes the lens from Phil’s outstretched hands and goes to put it in his rucksack. Once it’s zipped up and they’re ready to go, he turns to Phil again.

“Do you have a garden?”

“Here? No.”

“At your house?”

“Apartment,” Phil corrects. “And no.”

A laugh falls from his mouth. “You’re useful.”

Phil grins. Dan reckons it’s the first time he’s seen Phil properly smile. He tries to drink it in as subtly as possible: his slightly crooked teeth, how his tongue pokes out, the laughter lines indenting his face. Yep. He’s still very much attractive, and Dan still very much has no idea about how to go about processing it.

“My apologies,” Phil replies. “I’m guessing you don’t either.”

“There’s a car park at my apartment block,” Dan says, wracking his brain for ideas. “Or we could drop it from somewhere. Get creative with it.”

“Alright.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Alright to the car park or dropping it from somewhere?”

“You’re the lawyer,” he says, a smile toying at his lips. “You decide.”

“Knowledge of law doesn’t equate to having common sense,” Dan mutters. “But sure. It’s 15 minutes on foot from here. Will your shoulder be alright?”

“It should be.”

“We can always head up to my apartment if you need to rest or anything,” he decides out loud. Realising he’s overstepped a mark, he adds, “that is, if you need to. I’m not forcing you to, to – you know what? I’ve said too much already. Let’s just go.”

Once they’ve left the building and started making their way down the pavement, silence descends. It’s somewhere between comfortable and uncertain; the air fills with the sound of their shoes hitting the stone and Phil’s cast brushing his coat. Dan clamps his mouth shut, determined not to screw up more than he already has.

Out of the blue, they find themselves talking about things completely unrelated to what they should be talking about. Dan rambles about life as a lawyer, what his family’s like and how life in Manchester is for him. Phil tells stories about things he and his brother used to do. The conversation is one Dan is genuinely invested in.

For the first time, Dan feels like he’s talking to Phil. Not Phil Lester, the man under fire for no good reason, not his client Phil, but just Phil. Just the two of them with cheeks flushing pink from the icy northern air and their hands shoved in their pockets. There’s no judgement with anything either of them say, no snarky remarks. While one talks, the other listens. When one asks a question, the other answers.

Dan wants to be glad that they seem to get along just fine, he really does, but part of him needs to keep Phil at bay for his own personal sanity. He’s still trying to get to grips with the fact that he finds him attractive, and the last thing he wants to do is sabotage everything just because of his own selfishness.

When the course of their conversation naturally comes to an end, he tries to switch himself back into the right mindset. He’s being paid to bring justice, not bring someone home with him.

_That’s kind of what you’re doing_ , he thinks to himself. He tells his brain to fuck off.

A few minutes later, they’ve arrived outside his apartment block. Dan wrestles with his keys to open the door down into the car park. They walk down the gentle decline and lean against a wall, Phil waiting for Dan to start things off.

The rucksack comes off his shoulders and it’s unzipped before he retrieves the lens from it. Holding it in his hands, it’s slightly heavier than he expected. Twisting it round, he tries to think of how to destroy it in a way that a) is quick, b) doesn’t make much mess and c) is as quiet as possible.

“How are we planning on destroying this?” Phil asks.

“You’re the camera expert,” Dan replies teasingly. “You decide.”

Phil ponders for a couple of minutes. “We’re better off going for the glass part. It’ll be easier to smash. Maybe if we dent the outer framework it’ll look more realistic.”

“Like you fell over while using it?”

“Something like that.”

Dan nods in approval. “That works. We can’t make any mess, though.”

“Smashed lenses are messy,” Phil adds. “Tiny bits of glass everywhere. Hard floors are better than carpets but you’d need a hoover handy.”

“Plus we risk other people seeing us,” he whispers to himself. “I don’t know why I thought this would work. This was a stupid idea.”

“I thought we’d established that.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I was referring to our choice of location.”

“When was I involved?” Phil fires back.

“You became involved when you fell off your bike in front of me and then decided to hire me to defend you,” he deadpans.

“It’s not my fault you took pity on me,” Phil counters. “And I hired you because I’ve heard good things about you. Apparently you don’t always play by the rules. I like that.”

Dan feels the lens become sweaty in his palms. “Now’s not the time to be discussing this. If you’d let me finish, I was going to suggest going up to my apartment. We can be more discreet about smashing this thing.”

Phil shrugs. “Alright. Point proven.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” he asks, shoving everything into his rucksack and picking it up. He heads for the lift, Phil trailing slightly behind him.

“You know what I mean,” Phil replies, his voice worryingly even considering what he’s implying.

Dan rolls his eyes. “I’ve brought clients to my apartment before. Don’t get too full of yourself.”

As much as Dan loves his apartment block, the one thing he really can’t stand is the lift. It smells funny, rattles all the time and can barely fit one person it in, let alone two. By the time they’re both inside Dan’s left arm is pressed against Phil’s back, his hand uncomfortably close to Phil’s ass. He flexes his fingers to try to keep them away, but the lift jerks.

“Dan?”

“Yeah?” he responds, trying to mask how much his entire body is cringing at what just happened.

“Why did you just-?”

“Borderline grope you? It was an accident. Like I said – don’t get too full of yourself.”

The lift doors open to a small landing with doors either end. Dan unlocks his front door and kicks off his shoes, not waiting for Phil to follow him through. He checks to make sure all of his personal rooms have their doors closed. His living room is the designated room for having clients in, and it’s good to have that separation between spaces for working and spaces for relaxing.

While Phil presumably makes himself comfortable, Dan makes his way to the kitchen and retrieves a few items he thinks will help them – a pestle, a pair of scissors and a dustpan and brush. He carries them as well as he can until he’s returned to where Phil’s sitting.

“Right,” he begins, dumping the items on his coffee table. “Let’s get this over with.”

Phil quirks a brow at what he’s chosen. Dan can’t find it within himself to snap at him again. Their current relationship is one where they know virtually nothing about each other yet seem to be able to joke around like they’ve been lifelong friends.

There’s also the small matter of the fact that Phil’s paying him. The small reminder is enough to snap him into focus and prioritise the task at hand.

“The pestle’s for indentation and the scissors are for cracking the glass,” he explains. Phil listens to him in silence. “It’ll be easier if I use the scissors. They’re for left handed people.”

“You’re left handed?”

“Yeah. Bane of my fucking life,” he grumbles. “Pardon my French. I’m supposed to keep it PG with clients.”

“Clearly I’m not like other clients,” Phil jokes, swishing imaginary hair over his shoulder. “I’m different. I’m quirky.”

“You could say that,” Dan muses. “Everyone else is boring and you’re different.”

He’s too focused on holding the lens steady to see the look that graces Phil’s face for a split second. Phil blinks once, then twice, ever so slightly taken aback. It’s the kind of thing the love interest would say to the protagonist in a teen movie, not something a lawyer would say to a client while they’re crowding round a coffee table trying to destroy property.

Neither of them speak. Dan holds the scissors by their handle and stabs the lens as hard as he can. The glass cracks and tiny shards sprinkle onto the table. Overall, it’s less messy than he thought it would be. He sits back on his knees and admires his handiwork.

Phil grimaces. “I liked that fisheye.”

“It’s for the greater good,” Dan reasons, picking up the pestle. “All I’m going to do is smash one side in slightly and then you can have it back.”

With a few strikes, the ring surrounding the lens has caved in and shattered some more glass with it. Once he’s satisfied, Dan shakes any remaining shards off and sets the lens to one side, going to grab the dustpan and brush to clean up.

When he’s picked them up, his phone rings. Sighing, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees that it’s Luke, one of his colleagues who offered to look into Phil’s case to help him out. He can’t ignore this, especially as he’s currently sat with the man it affects the most.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He clicks ‘accept’ as he makes his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. “Hello?”

“Hey, Dan.”

“Luke! What’s up?”

“Okay, so I visited a couple of hospitals today and asked after an Alex.”

“Shit,” Dan murmurs, his whole demeanour suddenly changing.

“Yeah,” Luke replies, his voice sympathetic. “The Royal Infirmary confirmed that they have an Alex. He’s still alive.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @awrfhi <3

Dan nearly drops the phone. It feels like all of his internal organs have twisted themselves into knots, winding tighter and tighter. When he opens his mouth to speak, his stomach clenches.

He can’t do this. He _really_ can’t do this. Things have been bad enough already what with Phil’s steady stream of lies and Dan’s crumbling moral compass. Now he has a whole new set of obstacles to tackle.

Times like these make him wish he’d chosen a bland office job. He doesn’t regret doing law and hopefully never will, but it’s one of the most draining professions out there. You constantly put yourself out there and pour endless hours into individual cases, and for what? There are only two possible outcomes – the result you want, the one that’ll make your client happy, or the wrong result which inevitably ends up with another name to put on a list of people to avoid.

“Dan?” Luke asks, after their conversation has been reduced to crackling static. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “I’m here, I just – are you sure? That it’s him?”

“Fuck,” Luke hisses. “I should have been more thorough.”

“Well, what did they say?” Dan says. “The Alex in question has head injuries that could potentially be fatal. I’d imagine he’s in intensive care. Something like that.”

“Right, that’s good,” he replies, sounding slightly jittery. “The Alex they had was in intensive care. They wouldn’t let me visit or anything.”

“Because you aren’t related to him,” Dan mutters matter-of-factly. “Did they say anything about how he’s doing?”

“All I know is he’s in a stable condition.”

Without thinking, Dan puts Luke on speaker and makes his way out of his bedroom, back to where Phil is sitting looking slightly forlorn at the newly destroyed lens lying on the table in front of him. When Dan enters holding a phone, he opens his mouth to speak. Dan presses his finger to his lips and hushes him, sitting opposite him on the sofa.

“Dan?”

“Still here, don’t worry.”

“You keep randomly dropping off,” he notes. “I know it’s a lot to process in one go. Sorry for springing this all on you at once.”

“It’s fine.” They pause. “So, what should we do from here?” he asks, balancing his phone on his knee. Phil watches him wordlessly.

“For now, you should...” Luke trails off, deep in thought. “I don’t think there’s much you can do. As far as I know, he’s probably not well enough to even consider thinking about the lawsuit. I’d set this to one side for the time being. Wait until he at least says something to his lawyer.”

“That’s the best we can hope for,” Dan hums in agreement. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Of course. I called as soon as I found out. It’s a tough one.”

Dan frowns. “How so?”

“Intensive care isn’t easy on anyone,” Luke says softly. His voice is laced with a heavy kind of truth and Dan suddenly feels like this isn’t the right time to have a soul searching conversation, especially with the third party sitting across from him.

“I can imagine.”

“When you see Phil next, be gentle with him, yeah? It’ll be difficult for a while. I don’t even know what happened between them, but still.”

“For good reason,” Dan chides. “Client confidentiality. You only know vague details because you can get into places I can’t.”

“I’m not even highly ranked for a policeman,” he replies. “All I do is flash the badge and keep my voice steady and most people don’t question it further.”

“Still. Thanks for the help. I mean it.”

“I know you do. Any time.”

“Keep me posted, though,” Dan adds.

“I’ll do what I can,” Luke agrees. “There’s only so many times I can play the firm-but-fair-guy-in-a-position-of-power card.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t flatter me, Howell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Luke chuckles. “Catch you later.”

“Sure thing. Bye.”

As soon as Dan hangs up, he presses his face into his hands and sighs. Luke had the right intentions in calling him, but now he has to somehow explain to Phil that the man he almost killed is barely alive in a nearby hospital.

On top of that, Luke advised him to leave the case for a while, something Dan doesn’t think he’s prepared to do. There’s still work to be done to ensure that what the police think is as close to the truth as possible, and Dan’s just started getting to know Phil.

The latter shouldn’t matter at all, but it does. He could be upfront about it and confess to Phil. They could laugh about how Dan’s hopeless and focus on what’s actually important, what Dan’s getting paid to do. Of course, nothing’s ever as simple as that.

He sits there with his tongue tied and his fingernails leaving a trail of half-moon indentations on his forehead. When he finally sits up, his sight is bleary and strained with colour.

Phil’s moved from the sofa to the floor beside the table and he’s started sweeping up the remnants of their afternoon’s activity. The lens has been gingerly placed to one side along with his coat, which he apparently took off at some point when Dan wasn’t aware.

His first instinct is to stop him, to say _you really shouldn’t be doing that your arm is broken in two different places for God’s sake_ , but he refrains. While he slowly comes back to his senses, he watches how Phil frowns when he concentrates, how his hair falls into his eyes and how he flicks his head back to get it out of the way.

The next few minutes are spent with Phil visibly struggling to sweep anything and Dan too wrapped up in his own blossoming infatuation to offer to help. When Phil’s finished, he sits back on his knees and runs his free hand through his hair.

“Have I got something on my face?” he asks, glancing up at Dan.

He was staring for a little too long. “Other than what’s supposed to be there, no,” he replies, feigning nonchalance.

“Fair enough.”

Phil tries to stand up and sit back down on the sofa, but the movement makes him wince. Dan moves around to where he is and offers his hand.

“Might need a bit more than that,” Phil murmurs.

“Oh. Right. Of course, sorry, don’t know what I was thinking,” he chokes out in reply. “How do you want me to help?”

“If you come around this side-” Phil gestures to his right, “I can lean my arm on you.”

“Alright.”

When Dan’s made it around, Phil loops his right arm around Dan’s shoulders and pushes with his feet. Dan rests his left hand on the small of Phil’s back and guides him up, being careful to not let it stay there for too long. If there was a repeat of what happened in the lift, he’d never live it down.

Once they’re next to each other on the sofa, it becomes apparent just how close together they are. Dan removes Phil’s arm from around his shoulders and shifts away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So,” he says. “About that phone call.”

“It’s about Alex, isn’t it?” Phil asks quietly.

He nods. “He’s in intensive care at the Royal Infirmary. My colleague just told me now.”

Phil exhales. Dan can feel him shaking from where he’s sat and he looks over at him. He’s staring down at his knees, almost like he’s willing them to stop but they won’t comply.

Dan silently places his hand in the space between their thighs, as if to signal to Phil that he knows he feels. It’s hard to communicate what he wants to communicate with just words, to open up like that to someone he’s just started calling a friendly acquaintance. He lets the movement do the talking.

Moments later, Phil lets his fingers graze across Dan’s hand before they come to a stop. They sit there, the air between them filled with sadness and uncertainty and a certain warmth that only comes from being understood in the simplest of ways.

There are endless things they could both say, or plans they could make, but none of that feels right in the moment. Dan lets his vision become cloudy again, his mind trained on how Phil’s palm rests on his knuckles and how he wishes he could slow down time momentarily.

“I should visit him,” Phil whispers.

Dan twists his hand around and laces their fingers together, squeezing gently. Phil squeezes back, but it’s half-hearted at most.

“If you do, I’m coming with you,” he replies, his voice low. “I need to make sure you don’t say anything that could jeopardise the situation.”

“Plus me going by myself might look suspicious,” Phil offers.

“You have a point.”

Phil smiles to himself. “When should we go?”

“Give it a few days,” he advises. “Your emotions are high right now. It might be an idea to spend some time processing what’s going on.”

“Yeah. It still stings.”

Phil’s guilt is palpable, rolling off him in waves and diffusing into his breath. Their palms are becoming sweaty, but Dan squeezes again.

“It was an accident. There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

“I can’t help it,” Phil says. “Even if he’s one of the shittiest people I know, nobody deserves to go through what I’ve put him through.”

“How is he shitty?” Dan asks, turning to face him ever so slightly.

“He’s... done some bad things.”

“Okay.”

“But I could have killed him.”

“You could have,” Dan counters. “And you didn’t. He’s alive and breathing. We have the opportunity to make things right.”

“It doesn’t change what I did.”

“No. But it gives you an opportunity to learn from your past. Have a fresh start.”

“God knows I need one,” Phil says to himself.

“So let yourself have one. Let yourself have a couple of days to think things over before we visit him.”

“Fine,” he gives in at last. “We could go on Sunday. When are the visiting times?”

“It varies from place to place I think. We can go just after lunch. Or earlier. Depends.”

“So earlier is better.”

“Less people will see us then,” Dan reasons. “I’m your lawyer after all. If anyone sees us together outside of designated areas it looks suspicious.”

“We’re literally holding hands right now,” Phil deadpans.

“That’s irrelevant,” he fires back. “If anything, it’s emotional support. Why are humans so taboo when it comes to physical contact?”

“It’s not taboo, it’s just... questionable.”

Dan sighs and pulls his hand away. The sudden lack of warmth becomes apparent.

“You’re right. I keep screwing up. I’m sorry. From now on I’ll try to be more professional.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Phil practically purrs. Dan turns to face him until their eyes are lined up with each other, his mind a minefield of questions.

Up close, Phil’s even more attractive – no, scratch that, beautiful. His skin is ridiculously clear and the closest thing to porcelain he’s ever seen. His brows are softly arched and lighter than the hair that sits on his head. Does he dye his hair? Dan had never realised that before.

His gaze trails down to his eyes, which are twinkling like they never have before. In the cold wintery light streaming from the window, they look more grey than blue. He’s in deeper than he thought.

He thinks his mind’s deceiving him when he sees Phil’s face gradually draw nearer, and _god_ he can see individual speckles of yellow and green surrounding his irises, and delicate lashes casting shadows on his pupils. It’s entirely too much and not enough, and Dan finds himself leaning forward until the gap between them is nearly non-existent.

This is too much. He turns away, his body jerking. A wave of adrenaline and awkwardness and lingering regret washes over him. That was too much, and far too soon to live up to any scenario that he’s played out in his head.

“Dan-” Phil says. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he can hear something akin to pleading in his tone.

“You should leave,” he replies. “I’ll call you a couple of hours before we visit Alex to confirm.”

Without saying another word, Phil grabs his coat, stands up and walks out. Dan doesn’t move until he’s heard his front door slam.

 

* * *

 

Phil picks up after an impressive two rings.

“Phil Lester.”

“Hi,” Dan begins. “Are you free in an hour to visit Alex?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I can clear my schedule for then. Where should we meet?”

“I can meet you outside where you work,” Dan suggests.

“Isn’t that a bit risky?”

He mentally curses himself. At least one of them bothered to pay attention to the reality of their situation.

“You’re right. I can wait a few buildings down.”

“Alright. And Dan?”

Dan tries to prepare himself for what he knows Phil’s about to say, but he can’t.

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Not now.”

“Later, though,” Phil says. The line goes dead almost instantly.

When Dan’s made his way from his apartment to near Phil’s work, he stands and waits with his hands shoved in his pockets, scuffing the pavement with his shoes to keep himself occupied. It’ll only be a matter of minutes before Phil joins him, and no amount of mental preparation is enough for him to face what’s coming.

On a more immediate level, Phil wants to talk about the incident they had the other day. Calling it an ‘incident’ is a little harsh, but Dan doesn’t know how else to describe it. They nearly kissed each other, something he didn’t think he’d ever do despite how his stomach flips whenever he sees him. It’s wildly unprofessional, they both know that, but even the threat of Dan’s career isn’t enough to push away the intrusive thoughts of how Phil’s hands would feel if they grazed his jawline, or slipped under his shirt and found a home at his waist.

The other glaring issue is what to do about Alex. Visiting him while he already hates Phil is odd enough as it is, but Dan needs to be able to look at Phil and know that he’s sorry for what he did. He said it himself – Alex isn’t the nicest person to ever grace the earth, but nobody deserves to go through the (albeit unintentional) pain he put him through.

Thinking things over helps Dan to clear his mind. Outside of himself, the October weather greets him with mild winds and a pale, cloud-filled sky. Rain threatens to spill from the clouds, and he hopes that the two of them can reach the hospital before getting soaked.

Phil seems to be able to read his mind, as he comes strolling down the pavement moments later and waves his arm cheerily. Dan raises a hand in reply and comes to meet him.

“Hi,” he says, his voice more cautious than before.

“Hi,” Dan replies. “Shall we?”

“You don’t hang around,” Phil notes, walking alongside him. Dan digs his hands deeper into his pockets and tries to angle his shoulders away. The lightest of touches could set him off again like some kind of overly hormonal, sex-crazed teenager.

“It’s cold,” he explains. “And it could rain.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Objectively, I love rain, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not that fun when you’re in it.”

“Alright.”

They lapse into silence. Dan’s fairly confident they’re both thinking the same thing. It’s only a matter of time before Phil will break the silence and they can clear up the whole situation. Or, at least, he hopes they can. Part of him almost doesn’t want to, like he’s content floating in a sea of maybes and what ifs.

“Am I supposed to start this conversation?” Phil asks.

“What conversation?”

Phil sighs. “Playing dumb only delays it. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I don’t have anything to say about it.”

“That’s a lie.”

“How is it a lie?”

“Your pupils dilated,” Phil says, his voice annoyingly even. “That normally means something.”

“Maybe I was tired and horny.”

“So I make you horny?”

“Whatever,” Dan snaps. “My feelings about the situation don’t matter. I’m here to do my job which you’re paying me to do. I don’t get to mess around.”

Phil stops. When Dan turns around to ask what’s going on, Phil tugs at his coat and pulls them together. Their lips collide in a way that’s impossibly soft yet urgent before Phil moves away. The whole ordeal lasts for barely a few seconds, quick enough for Dan to question whether it even happened or not.

“Like that?” he asks.

Dan wipes his lips on the back of his sleeve. “Maybe. Come on.”

They start walking again, but the whole atmosphere around them has changed significantly. Dan’s entire body tingles, unable to focus on anything else apart from the past minute of his life. He’s done that with endless people for any number of reasons, yet he can’t find any explanation for why Phil would spring that on him out of the blue. The last thing he needs is more questions to add to the list.

When the Royal Infirmary looms ahead, he breathes a small sigh of relief. Maybe now’s not the time. Now’s the time to do what he’s supposed to be doing, to be professional and make sure his client doesn’t screw up their case.

For the first time, he can’t find it within himself to care about what Phil says. If anything, them breaking professional ties works in his favour. It’s clear that Phil’s now paying him for more than just being a lawyer.

He freezes. _You’re being paid_. This needs sorting out.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop paying me.”

Phil doesn’t reply immediately. “Okay. Any reason why?”

“Because you’re right.”

“About what?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So you can’t keep paying me. I don’t mind doing this for free. It makes things easier.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. But we can sort that out some other time. We’re here.”

In front of them, the Royal Infirmary is buzzing with people and cars and ambulances. The cloudy skies above are reflected in the mirrored panels adorning one part of the building, a stark contrast to the adjoining brick and concrete and tarmac of the road.

Dan lets Phil go to reception and ask about Alex while he sits on a seat and stares down at the floor. He needs to distance himself slightly. He’s been in enough relationships (romantic or not) to know when he’s going too fast, and Phil’s probably more likely to be able to get them into the ward anyway.

When he sees Phil’s trainers in front of his, his eyes travel from his oddly tied shoelaces up to his face.

“Success?” he asks.

Phil nods in reply. “Third floor. Number 6.”

“Any specifics?”

“Christ, Dan, in a bit,” he says. “It’s weird enough coming here in the first place.”

“Point taken.”

They make their way to the hospital elevator in silence, weaving inbetween people waiting and nurses hurrying around. Inside the elevator, Phil presses a button and looks up.

“There’s a camera.”

“Why does that matter?” Dan asks. He already has an answer in his head.

“The things I would do to you if it wasn’t there,” Phil whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore how his head suddenly feels light. _That_ wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Alex,” he stutters. “We’re here to see Alex.”

Sure enough, the elevator dings and the doors open to reveal a wide corridor branching off into two directions. It’s well labelled enough that they find their way to outside Room 6 without too much trouble.

“You alright?” Dan asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, before knocking the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @awrfhi <3

Alex doesn’t look how Dan thought he would. Of course, he’s never seen him before and has nothing to remember him by, but still. People tend to defy expectations when they’re teetering on a fine line between life and death, he reckons.

The nurses only allow two guests in the room, which is the standard protocol, but being here feels a lot worse than he’d anticipated. It feels uncomfortable, like walking in on someone while they’re on the toilet or entering the wrong room and embarrassing yourself.

Wrong. The word lies heavy on his tongue. This feels wrong, and he knows Phil feels the exact same way.

Alex is hooked up to several dystopian looking machines. An IV drip has been jammed into the vein on the back of his hand, connected by a thin tube to a bag on a stand. Any time he looks at the liquid lying stagnant in the bag, it’s enough to make his throat lurch.

Past the drip, Alex is sleeping in a tacky hospital gown on a bed that smells of disinfectant. His skin is  thin enough to expose the lines of blue and green trailing up his arms and milky enough to emphasise the darkness crowding underneath his eyes.

Dan didn’t realise people could have such visible pain on their faces while they slept. Alex’s forehead is ever so slightly creased, like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t escape from. In a way, he is. They all are.

Turning to Phil, he sees the pain etched into his features as well. Doing what he did to Alex took a toll on him mentally, and seeing the results of that day can’t make anything any easier. For the first time in his life, Dan feels more sorry for the perpetrator than the victim.

At least Alex can wake up and know that he’s getting better. Phil can’t wake up from real life, can’t open his eyes and stretch out his arms and know that everything he thought was real was just a figment of his imagination. He can’t sleep at night knowing that everything that’s happened inevitably stems back to him, that he was the direct cause of this all.

Part of him wants to hold Phil’s hand again, to give him a nonverbal reminder of his support no matter what, but he can’t do that. Actions like those lead to conversations he isn’t willing to have.

It’s nearly been 3 weeks since Phil’s accident. In those 3 weeks, he’s taken on a case he should never have accepted, ignored a near-murder and kissed his client. He knows that it doesn’t have to mean anything if he doesn’t want it to, but in the eyes of anyone else, it’s instant malpractice. At this very moment, he could be sitting at home jobless.

He’s established that Phil isn’t terrible looking and has a decent personality, but he’s always been able to maintain his professionalism above everyone else. Any time he felt himself going too far, he always reminded himself of how hard he worked to get where he is today.

The mental pep talk isn’t as compelling as it used to be, but it does the job. He twiddles his fingers together to keep himself occupied, trying to ignore how Phil’s gaze burns holes in the side of his face and how he wants to turn around to meet that gaze.

A nurse enters the room.

“Hi there,” she starts, her voice gentle.

“Hi,” he replies. When the nurse doesn’t acknowledge his reply, Dan finally gives in and turns to see Phil with his head bowed down, his body shaking.

“Oh!” the nurse exclaims, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “Let me get you some tissues. I won’t be a minute.”

As soon as she’s left, Phil seems to let out whatever emotions he was containing before. His body seizes up as it rocks back and forth on the chair, his hands pressing into his cheeks. Tears splash onto his jeans at a much quicker rate than Dan realised, and it takes every inch of willpower not to wrap his arms around him and cradle him.

“I can’t – I can’t do this,” he sobs. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“You’re not in this alone,” Dan replies sombrely.

There’s more he wants to say, but the nurse returns with a box of tissues before he gets the chance to say it. The words fizzle out on his tongue and he swallows them back down, away from anywhere they can be heard.

He sits in silence as the nurse (whose nametag reads Sandra) pulls out a couple of tissues and hands them to him. Phil accepts them meekly, pressing them against his eyes and nose.

“If you could sit back for me, that would be great,” she instructs. “Too much movement can’t be good for your arm.”

Phil complies, sitting upright in his chair and letting his arms hang limp by his side.

“So you know Alex?” Sandra asks, her hand on Phil’s shoulder.

He nods. “He’s my friend.”

“And you?” she repeats the question, her focus now on Dan.

“I’m just emotional support,” he clarifies. “Phil didn’t want to come alone.”

“Well, it’s good of you to come along,” Sandra says. “This must be a difficult time for your... your-”

“Friend,” he interjects, hesitating slightly. “Yeah. You can probably tell.”

Phil lets out a weak laugh before his throat tightens again. The urge to make him feel better is growing stronger, to the point where he has to remind himself of where things stand with Phil and how Sandra is taking care of the situation now.

“Do you want to know how Alex is doing?” she asks. Despite how cautious she’s being, Dan still sees Phil freeze.

“We might as well,” he replies. “It’s easier than not knowing.”

“Of course,” she sympathises. “I’ll give you a brief overview, then. Nobody likes knowing the details.”

They sit in silence, waiting for her to get her thoughts together. Dan figures that if he were in the same situation, he’d want to be careful about how he approaches this.

“So Alex had an accident,” she begins. Phil flinches beside him. “I haven’t heard too many details about what happened, but it seems to be that he fell downstairs and hit his head. There’s a small haemorrhage.”

“Wh-what’s a haemorrhage?” Phil asks.

“Bleeding inside the brain,” Sandra responds. “They’re quite common with any kind of head trauma.”

“Oh god.”

“But he’ll be alright,” she reassures him. “Somebody got him help after the accident happened. The longer it’s left, generally the more severe the consequences. From what I’ve seen, the bleeding hasn’t spread enough to cause any kind of long lasting damage. He’ll need some more time to rest in here and eventually back at home, but he should make a full recovery.”

“Okay.”

Phil seems tense, like he wants to be relieved but he can’t bring himself to be. Dan feels the same way; he’s torn between being happy that he doesn’t have a murder case on his hands and upset that he can’t predict what Alex is going to do next.

The knowledge of Alex’s past looms in his mind. From what he’s heard from Phil, it sounds like Alex isn’t the most pleasant person ever, and Dan wants to, scratch that, _needs_ to know more about it. Aside from his burning curiosity, it could help him to convince Alex to drop the case.

For the umpteenth time, he has to remind himself that there are other ways of handling a case that don’t involve blackmail. He snaps out of it, instead focusing on the sleeping figure in front of him.

“Would you like some time alone?” Sandra asks.

“Please,” Phil replies, almost too quickly.

Sandra must be used to this by now, as she stands up and leaves with a final comforting pat on Phil’s shoulder. Then it’s the two of them sitting in front on the hospital bed with air that’s too clean and walls that are too clinically white.

“Maybe I should have pushed harder,” Phil mutters darkly.

Dan’s concerned at how unsurprised he is. “The facade you had in our first consultation was better than this. Stick to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Criminal law 101. The person accused needs to have two basic elements to be convicted: _mens rea_ and _actus reus_. You fulfilled the latter when you pushed Alex and-”

“But it was an accident,” he interrupts.

“Accidental or not, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened,” Dan counters. “As I was saying, the latter is out of our control. What we can control is the first part. You didn’t go to Alex’s house with the intent of harming him, which is what makes your little comment just now hard to ignore.”

“It’s true though,” Phil reasons. “I have a point.”

“A dumb point, yes,” Dan says dismissively. “You should thank your lucky stars that hospitals aren’t allowed to monitor inside wards with anything other than nurses.”

Phil grumbles under his breath. “Can we leave? Being in here isn’t good for me.”

“As long as you do something for me.”

Phil turns so that he’s staring Dan square in the face. “What kind of something?”

“We’re getting lunch somewhere and you’re going to tell me about what Alex did.”

His mouth moves infinitesimally. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

They stand up and make their way out of the ward, being careful to shut the door behind them. The blinds are partially pulled over the window into the ward, but Dan can still make out the rise and fall of Alex’s chest. Part of him shivers. It’s a hard image to erase from his mind.

As soon as they’ve stepped out, they pause, unsure of where to go. Reading the signs of the doors doesn’t help matters any further.

When a nurse walks past, Dan waves to get their attention.

“Hi there!” they say cheerily.

“Hi,” Dan replies, trying to keep his outward appearance calm while his insides spin. “Could you please direct us to where the lift is?”

“The lift?” they frown.

“Yeah?” Phil says, bemused. “The weird metal contraption that takes people up and down.”

Their eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! The elevator!”

“Ah,” Dan says. “Sorry.”

“English people say sorry so much,” they note. “I should apologise for not knowing your weird lingo. It’s this way.”

They stride on ahead, leaving the pair to follow after them. Dan glances at Phil briefly, quirking a brow and gesturing in their direction. Phil speeds up a fraction.

“So,” they say, “you visited a patient?”

“Yeah,” Phil replies. “A friend.”

“That must be hard. Which ward, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was... was Ward 6,” Phil responds. “He’s called Alex.”

The nurse frowns. “Don’t know him. There’s an Alexander and an AJ somewhere, but no Alex.”

“Oh. Must be a nickname.”

“Surely you’d know if he had a nickname?” Dan asks.

Phil shrugs. “I didn’t know him that well. Besides, we never talked about that kind of stuff.”

“Then what did you talk about?”

“Other things. Angle width or white balance or how he wanted me to put something together. It was always work oriented.”

“Of course!” the nurse says suddenly, stopping in their tracks and turning around. “I thought I recognised you. You’re Phil, right? Phil Lester. I’ve seen your website.”

Dan can physically see Phil’s ego inflating. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replies, smiling.

“And Alex must be... Alex Lawton?”

“Lawson,” Phil corrects.

“Yeah, that’s him. I follow his website as well.” They lean in and grin. “Between us, I think yours is better.”

Phil laughs. “That’s kind of you.”

“His is just too – what’s the word – intense, I guess. He has this whole wannabe edgy persona and shortened name and all of his work has this weird darkish colour scheme. Yours is more authentic and down to earth. I like it.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Phil says, sounding genuinely touched. “I had no idea about what goes on with his website. It sounds like something he’d do.”

“How do you shorten Alex?” Dan questions. “Since, y’know, it’s already a nickname.”

“Good point,” they reply, their forehead creasing slightly. “I think he went by AJ? Yeah, AJ, that’s it. AJ Lawson.”

The name sticks in his head, tugging at something he can’t quite grasp. He hasn’t heard the name before like that, but it’s familiar in a way he doesn’t know how to describe. Wracking his brain, he comes up with the grand total of zero answers to his question.

_You’re a lawyer_ , he thinks to himself. _You’re supposed to be able to remember stuff like this_.

The only plausible solution he can come up with is that he’s heard the two names used on two separate occasions. Lawson is the more recognisable name out of both of them, seeing as it’s the surname of the guy suing his client, but he can’t get AJ out of his head.

“AJ Lawson,” his mouth says before his mind can catch up. “I might check him out.”

“You might be wasting your time, but sure,” they tease, turning back around and holding a door open for the two of them. “The elevator’s just there to your right.”

“Thank you,” Dan and Phil say simultaneously.

“Okay, that was weird,” they mention, grinning again. “It was nice to talk to you both. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around,” Phil replies.

He smiles and waves before the three of them go their separate ways, with them making their way to the staircase and Dan and Phil opting for the lift. Phil’s bad arm can be their excuse for using it, Dan supposes.

Once they’re in the lift, Dan positions himself beside Phil’s bad shoulder and remembers the security camera looming above them. He angles himself around and gingerly places one hand on Phil’s shoulder and the other on his cast.

“Since this is the only time we’ll actually be alone together I might as well get it out of the way,” he says, faking a frown to keep up the pretence of a concerned friend. “While we know each other in a professional context, it’s going to stay professional.”

“And if my case gets dropped?” Phil asks, his voice low.

“If your case gets dropped, I think your jeans are going to get dropped too,” Dan hums, relishing the way Phil grows pale and speechless. “I’m pressing the button to the ground floor now. Let’s get some lunch.”

When the lift makes a small sound and the doors open, they step out. After weaving their way through yet more people and nurses, they’re out of the doors and leaving the Royal Infirmary behind for what Dan hopes is for good.

“Do you know this area?” he asks Phil, his hands making their way into his coat pockets.

“Vaguely. I think there’s a Starbucks near here.” Phil replies.

“That’ll do. Lead the way, Mr Lester.”

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” he chides. “It makes me sound like a school teacher or something. You don’t even know how old I am.”

“Yes I do,” Dan fires back as they start walking. “You’re 29. That’s old enough to be a teacher.”

“I’m not going grey,” Phil grumbles. “How old are you anyway?”

“25.”

“Bit young for a lawyer,” he comments.

“I’ve kept you out of shit so far and I intend to keep it that way. My age is irrelevant if the job gets done.”

“Fair enough, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I won’t call you baby if you don’t call me Mr Lester, then,” Phil bargains.

“Deal. Now get me to a Starbucks. I need tea and a panini.”

Phil silently leads him the rest of the way to Starbucks, along a winding pavement and through the back end of a shopping centre. When they finally reach it, Dan sits at a more secluded table while Phil orders, his feet throbbing.

The name AJ is still at the forefront of his mind. Rubbing his temples, he glances over at Phil standing in the queue and things seem to be manageable for a split second. He isn’t even getting paid, but at this point he’s more concerned with finding out the truth than financial stability.

Phil returns with a drink that’s drowning in cream and what looks like caramel sauce and sits down. Dan takes the prompt to join the queue, picking up his go-to panini and ordering his tea when he reaches the till.

A few minutes later, he’s brandishing his recently purchased goods and sitting down opposite Phil. Phil glances up, and if he’s not mistaken, his eyes shine at the sight of him. Coughing, he focuses on taking his teapot and mug off the tray and sliding the tray against the wall beside them. The panini rests timidly on his lap.

“Didn’t you want a panini?” Phil asks.

“It’s on my lap,” Dan replies, pouring tea into the mug before setting the pot down and regarding Phil. “My crotch is now uncomfortably warm.”

“Wouldn’t want you becoming infertile,” he mutters, taking a sip of whatever hideously sugary drink he decided to get. His cheekbones are nothing short of ridiculous.

“Of course not. Not that that should concern you, or anything.”

“Hm.”

“Let’s not waste time,” Dan says. “We’re here to talk about what you know about Alex’s past. I need you to be honest with me.”

“You make it sound like I’m incapable of being honest,” Phil complains, almost plaintive.

“How many times have you lied to me already?”

Phil swallows. “Right. Sorry. Ask away.”

“Tell me about the bad stuff that Alex has allegedly done.”

“He... he isn’t a good person, Dan.” His name sounds odd coming from Phil’s mouth. He feels like he could get used to hearing it.

“Why not?”

“He was violent to people,” Phil says, more a whisper than anything else.

“Violent as in abusive?”

Phil nods.

“Who was he abusive to?”

“His girlfriend.”

“Damn.”

“I can’t say her name,” Phil stutters.

“Who said anything about you telling me her name?” Dan replies, frowning. “She can stay anonymous. If it goes to court I might need to dig up some information about her, but-”

“You can’t do that,” he insists.

“If there are police records that help your case then I need to find them. Why are you being so odd about this?”

Phil stares down at his now abandoned drink. The layers of cream and caramel must be hypnotic, as he refuses to look Dan in the eye.

Unless...

_Bingo._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things
> 
> 1) updates are gonna be hopefully way more regular! i'm on a bit of a roll atm with writing so i'm riding the crest of this productivity wave  
> 2) i'm like 99% sure i'm doing the pbb18 so uh that's exciting i guess
> 
> hmu on tumblr @awrfhi <3

“She’s helping you.”

Phil remains silent, transfixed by the table in front of him.

“Well go on then! Tell me I’m right! Tell me I’ve just sussed you out and I can help you both!”

“You’re right,” Phil admits.

“I need more than that,” he snaps. “Tell me _how_ I’m right. Tell me what’s going on between you two.”

“Just because you’re my lawyer, doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know everything about me,” Phil retorts.

“No. But I am entitled to information that helps your case. Nobody hires a lawyer to deliberately send them to jail.”

Phil sighs and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “She helped to remove traces of evidence from Alex’s house after the accident.”

“Like what?”

“Alex was wearing a jacket when I pushed him. She said she removed it and hid it in their wardrobe.”

“So they live together?”

“How would I know that?”

“Just checking,” Dan mutters. “Did she do anything else?”

“I had a glass of water. She must’ve put it in the dishwasher or something. Made sure my presence at Alex’s house that day couldn’t be proven.”

“Why, though? How could she have known to do that?”

Phil shakes his head. “I’ve said too much already.”

“It isn’t enough,” he replies. “You can’t just sit here and tell me that Alex’s girlfriend has some psychic ability. That’s bullshit. She must have known you were going to his house that day.”

Phil’s lips are pursed in a way that suggests that he knows how Dan’s right, but refuses to confirm it. Dan takes a thoughtful sip of tea, his brain trying to weigh up the different possibilities of what could have actually happened.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m going to tell you my thought process out loud and you’re going to let me know how I’m doing.”

“And if I don’t?” Phil asks, testing the limits of Dan’s patience.

“If you don’t...” Dan trails off and reaches his hand across the table, running his forefinger along Phil’s jaw. “I head straight to the police station and tell them my client has just confessed to attempted murder. I say I refuse to represent you in court. You get a different defence attorney who does a half-assed job of trying to cover for you in court. The jury finds you guilty of attempted murder and Alex’s girlfriend guilty of perverting the course of justice. Then you spend the next 10 or so years of your life rotting away in a cell and praying that someone can come and rescue you.”

“You’re attractive when you use technical terms,” Phil comments.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he responds. “Just listen to my questions and try to be truthful, okay? I don’t do this because I find it enjoyable.”

Phil stays quiet, draining the final dregs of his drink. Once he’s set the cup down, his tongue darts out to lick the cream from his lips and it takes Dan everything in him not to drop the cold façade he’s put up and kiss him until he can’t feel anything else.

It’s a bad time to entertain such a fantasy, but he pretends he’s taking some time to think about what questions he wants to ask. His mind travels to how Phil would taste – warm and sweet and buttery – and how it would contrast the citrus tang of his tea. The thought alone is enough to make him almost lose control.

“How did Alex’s girlfriend know to come to his house?” he begins.

“I texted her.”

“What do the texts say?”

“They were deleted pretty quickly after it happened.”

“Don’t deflect,” Dan instructs. “What did they say, then?”

“Something along the lines of ‘had an accident at Alex’s please help’. I don’t know.”

“And why do you think she agreed?”

Phil sighs. “Because she loves him. The way I phrased the text made it sound like he was in trouble, so she dropped whatever she was doing, I guess. He’s put her through so much but she... she still loves him.”

“So she was the voice you heard as you were leaving.”

“It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Dan gulps down what’s left of his tea and sits back, frowning.

“Did Alex ever hurt her enough for her to do something?”

He shakes his head. “It took her a long time to even confess what was happening. I saw some bruises on her shoulder and asked about where they’d come from. For a while she lied to me about them. Said they were from work. Then one day she broke down and told me about everything. I could have killed him for what he did to her.”

“And then he sued you.”

“Yeah.” Phil huffs out a humourless laugh. “That was the icing on the cake.”

“You told me Alex made the first move on the day of the incident,” he says. “So if anything happens to Alex while he’s recovering, like, I don’t know, there are complications which result in a fatality, that’s what the prosecution would use against you.”

“How would they use that?”

“Alex has violent tendencies, mainly towards his girlfriend but also to you. You know about the girlfriend’s situation so you fight back and kill him. We know it was self defence, but the jury will think you were trying to do the right thing in stopping the abuser.”

“But he’s recovering. That won’t happen.”

“Be prepared for all eventualities, remember? If he doesn’t recover, we go with that. If he does, he’ll probably go to the police and drop your name.”

“So there’s a chance I could actually go to court?” Phil asks, his voice wavering.

“There’s always been a chance of that happening,” Dan replies reassuringly. The reassurance doesn’t quite reach Phil.

“But... but my family. What if they find out?”

“It was self defence.”

“They won’t care about whether it was self defence or not. All they care about is keeping my record clean.”

“Going to court doesn’t tarnish your reputation,” he counters. “It means they need to legally confirm that you can’t be blamed for what happened because it _wasn’t your fault_.”

Phil shakes his head. “Can we talk about this outside?”

“We’d draw attention to ourselves,” Dan frowns. “We can walk and talk. Go to your work, or something.”

“Today’s Sunday,” Phil reminds him. “We could go to my apartment instead? I need to do a certain amount of exercise per day anyway.”

He grins. “Doctor’s orders?”

Phil returns the grin. “Can’t ignore them. It’s just over 20 minutes, I’d guess. Gives us time to talk.”

“Fine.”

Dan picks up the tray from earlier and slides it onto the table beside their empty cups. His panini has almost gone cold in his lap, so he picks it up and eats in in a few bites. Phil’s eyes widen slightly at how apparently large his mouth is.

Wiping crumbs from his mouth, he teases, “that’ll come in handy at some point.”

Then the plate is moved from his lap to on the table and they’re ready to leave. Dan slips on his coat and goes over to help Phil up from his chair. Phil rolls his eyes but still lifts his arm up and loops it around Dan’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do this every time I stand up,” he says.

“Maybe I just like having a reason to be close to you,” Dan responds. He feels Phil shiver.

They walk out of Starbucks and on to the streets of Manchester. The sun has decided to make a rare appearance, filling the air with warmth and caressing the ground with its rays. Dan squints in surprise and follows Phil to wherever his apartment is.

“So,” he starts, catching up with Phil, “where were we?”

“My family,” Phil replies.

“That was part of it, I suppose. The main thing to remember is that you’re not the one to blame, okay?”

“But I was the one who pushed him. That makes me guilty.”

“Doing the act only fulfils half of what the legal system requires to find you guilty,” Dan reminds him. “You didn’t go there with the intent of doing harm, so you can’t be charged.”

“Then how do I make myself believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe it right away, but if it goes to court you’d better start believing it.”

“I guess.”

Neither of them have the energy to keep up the conversation as they continue walking. Dan still has more things to discuss, but he’s okay with letting them talk at Phil’s apartment. He’s preoccupied with trying to envision how Phil’s decorated his place and slightly concerned at how he’s taking him home.

The phrase that comes to mind doesn’t encapsulate just how he’s feeling. There’s taking someone home in the sense of innocently letting someone see where you live, then there’s _taking someone home_. Perhaps his greatest cause of concern is how he has no idea which one Phil’s going for.

As much as he’d love for it to be the latter, things are confusing enough already. Every time he thinks he knows the whole truth, he asks a question and Phil responds with yet more information that he’d never realised.

Phil wants Alex’s girlfriend to stay anonymous, but from the way everything’s panning out, the likelihood of that continuing decreases. How can a jury possibly let a man sue someone when there are way more glaringly problematic issues at hand?

From an entirely legal perspective, Alex’s abusive nature in some ways is an advantage for him. He can twist it to hint at what Alex could do if Phil doesn’t pay him, or something else depending on if the situation changes.

With that in mind, he decides that Alex’s girlfriend can’t stay anonymous, not if he’s going to get justice for Phil. It just doesn’t seem feasible. How he’s going to find her identity without Phil finding out is another issue.

 _That can wait_ , he thinks to himself. For once he agrees with the little voice in his head.

“Phil.”

“Hm?” he replies.

“Why your apartment of all places?” Dan asks, dipping his toe in the water.

Phil doesn’t seem fazed by the question. “I didn’t get anything to eat in Starbucks and it’s 2pm and I don’t want to invite myself around yours.”

“So not because...” he trails off awkwardly.

“Calm down,” Phil chuckles. “I’m not hungry in that sense of the word.”

“Piss off. I just wanted to check.”

“My apartment’s a dump,” he adds. “I’d be embarrassed to bring anyone home to it.”

Dan nearly stops in his tracks. “You’ve never brought anyone home?”

“Nope. Consider yourself lucky, Howell.”

“I – alright,” he stutters. “When we get there, can we clear up some things?”

“Like what?”

“Like... this. What’s going on here. You and I.”

“Alright.”

The next few minutes they spend walking seem agonising. In a way, Dan feels relieved that he finally talked about _it_ , but equally terrified at the prospect of finally getting an answer from Phil. It’s not like he’s aimlessly pinned his affections or someone, or like he’s looking for a quick shag. He’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.

Whatever’s going on with Phil feels like more than that. It would be clichéd to say that he could tell from the moment he saw him in the dingy office reception, but the way he was shaking was comforting in a way that only he could remember.

From their first consultation, he wasn’t afraid to be emotionally vulnerable, or cry in front of him. Dan’s not sure he’s ever been near someone like Phil before. Other infatuations were purely physical appearance; this infatuation (if he even wants to call it that) is a kind of insatiable curiosity, a desire to know more about him emotionally and physically.

There have been telltale signs that Phil feels the same. For one, he initiated their first kiss, something that was utterly electrifying and all-consuming for something so brief. Then there’s the ease in which they’ve been able to joke with each other about all kinds of things that Dan would normally steer clear of.

Overall, he’s somewhere between excited and scared. He’s excited at the prospect of discovering more about the person walking alongside him, but scared, terrified, even, at the thought of anything bad happening to him. Even though Phil’s the first client who hasn’t paid him, he’s the first client he’s felt such a strong urge to protect.

“We’re here,” Phil says suddenly.

Dan peers up at the windows filled with sunlight and smoky coloured brick and lets his lips curve upwards. Phil’s apartment building is nothing overly fancy, but he said himself that it was a ‘dump’ anyway.

With his good hand, Phil inserts the key into the lock, twists and wrenched the door open. Dan follows inside behind him and lets the door swing itself shut before wandering up a couple of steps to the lift.

Inside the lift, they look at each other knowingly. One day Dan reckons he’ll have the courage to pin Phil against one of the mirrored walls, but for now he’s content with drinking him in: how his hair’s been swept back from his face, his slightly parted lips, how the cheap elevator light somehow still manages to make his skin glow.

He gazes and gazes as the lift goes up and it still isn’t enough.

Once they’ve reached Phil’s floor and made it inside his apartment, Dan wraps a hand around Phil’s waist and pulls him in until their noses are touching. With a feather light touch, he lets his tongue trace up the middle of Phil’s lips, marvelling at the wetness it leaves behind. Phil sighs gently, the sound caught in his mouth as their lips brush against each other again and again.

Phil raises his good hand and runs it through Dan’s hair, his fingers dancing over Dan’s scalp as the kiss deepens. Dan’s hands slip under Phil’s shirt and skim up his sides and Phil properly giggles at the sensation, the vibrations tingling against Dan’s lips.

As they part, Phil sucks Dan’s bottom lip one final time and it takes every ounce of self will not to explode on the spot.

“You need lunch,” he murmurs, pecking Phil’s lips.

“I’d say lunch can wait, but I’m really hungry,” Phil confesses. Dan laughs and takes his hand, letting Phil tug him in the direction of the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Phil rummages through various cupboards and drawers to put together some sandwiches as Dan sits on a barstool, resting his head in his hand and not-too-discretely watching him. A couple of minutes later, a plate’s set down in front of him.

“It’s just a ham sandwich,” he says.

“No cheese?”

“Cheese is the food of the devil,” comes Phil’s reply.

 

* * *

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon together, watching crappy reality TV and sitting tangled together on Phil’s sofa. Neither of them feel the need to talk about what’s going on between them, or what’s to come. The moment, soft and slow and delicious, doesn’t need to be shattered with any worries about what to call their relationship or whether Phil’s at risk of going to jail.

So Dan lies there, inhaling Phil’s scent, his eyelids slowly drooping despite the drama unfurling on the screen in front of him. Then his breathing evens out and Phil shifts slightly beside him and everything feels warm and syrupy sweet and as close to perfect as anyone could hope for.

Later that evening, Dan untangles himself from Phil, presses a chaste kiss to his lips and makes his way out of Phil’s apartment and home. Tomorrow is Monday, the start of a new week with old clients and the routine he’s so familiar with that he could probably do it with his eyes closed.

As soon as he gets home, he ignores the slight dampness of his boxers as he peels them off before finding a fresh pair to slip into. He tries not to dwell on it too much as he heads into his bathroom and does what needs doing.

Without anyone beside him, drifting off to sleep suddenly becomes that much harder.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Dan wakes up with actual sweat beading on his forehead. With a frown, he rolls out of bed, pulls a t-shirt on and opens the curtains to even more sunshine than the day before. It’s mid-October, and this kind of weather is so uncharacteristic that he doesn’t even bother to question it.

He decides to ditch his jacket in favour of a thin jumper which he stuffs into his rucksack along with his case files and a bottle of water. Then he gives himself a quick one-over in the mirror before heading out for the day.

Manchester seems slightly busier than usual for a Monday, probably due to the sudden bout of sun. Dan pulls out some earbuds and listens to some movie soundtrack as he makes his way from his apartment to the Starbucks down the road.

Ten minutes later, he finally arrives at work armed with tea and a panini. Going over to reception, he greets Elle.

“I’m Mallory, actually,” the voice says.

Dan whips his head around. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were Elle.”

“No worries.” She smiles. “Elle isn’t going to be here for a little bit.”

“Oh?” he says, his forehead creasing. “Did she say why?”

“I shouldn’t be saying this, but...” Mallory trails off as Dan leans in closer. “Word on the street is her boyfriend’s getting discharged from the ICU soon. She wants to be there for him, bless her. It can’t be easy.”

“Her boyfriend?” Dan asks, going pale.

“Yeah. What’s he called? Jay? J – AJ! That’s it. Alex James.”

Dan nearly drops what he’s holding.

No. _No_. He refuses to believe he heard that correctly.

Then everything slips into place – Elle’s hesitation to tell him, when he heard the name AJ in the first place, Phil’s refusal to reveal her identity.

It’s Elle. Alex’s girlfriend, the one who he’s been abusing, is Elle.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @awrfhi on tumblr - come say hi! <3

In his whole life, Dan has never found himself truly speechless until now. That takes a lot to do, considering some of the things he’s encountered in his time. Things are generally so predictable that he’s almost forgotten what shock – real, gut-wrenching shock – feels like.

He doesn’t like remembering how it feels. He doesn’t like the way he has to clench his fingers tighter so his breakfast stays in hands and won’t spill everywhere, or how all rational thought goes out the window. He doesn’t like losing control so quickly.

He especially doesn’t like being lied to.

Technically, neither Elle nor Phil have lied to him. Both of them have been economical with the truth, saying enough to satisfy him while keeping him at bay. If he puts himself in their shoes, he can see why they would. At the end of the day, everyone is willing to go to certain lengths to ensure their own personal safety or deny involvement.

Coming from someone like Phil, it’s fine. Men are unpredictable and untrustworthy at best, and Dan reckons he’ll be able to process any hurt in a matter of minutes. Elle’s a different story. With Elle, whatever maelstrom of emotions he’s feeling is slowly turning into a bitter sting that’s gnawing away at him.

Saying a quick goodbye to Mallory, he turns back the way he came and half-walks half-runs the distance to his apartment. His hurry to return home seems a little unnecessary, but he has so much adrenaline pumping through his system that needs to have some kind of release.

Whichever client he was supposed to be seeing today will have to settle for an explanatory email. His colleagues are already aware of just how big this case is for him; he could always text one of them and ask them to cover. He’d left without thinking to ask someone, his mind trained on other issues at hand.

The one overarching sentiment is guilt. It’s pointless being confused when he knows he’ll get answers to his questions if he pushes hard enough. He feels guilty, so guilty, for never having suspected a thing about Elle.

He’s always been utterly focused on work, on his clients, that he forgot to check on one of the closest people he has. At the dinner in the pizzeria, she’d been so reluctant to talk about Alex. The fact that he was the direct cause of her anguish only makes him feel worse.

More of that night comes back to him. She’d said she was lucky to have Alex. How does that add up? How can anyone be lucky to have a man that constantly abuses them?

 _She’s been lying to you_. Dan’s upset at Elle shifts to anger. Pulling out his phone, he calls her, silently praying that she at least picks up.

As the ringtone beeps and he continues to make his way home, the oxygen doesn’t reach his lungs like it normally does. It’s like he’s drowning, which is impossible because nobody can drown in air and drowning makes it sound like there’s too much of it when there _isn’t enough_.

He can’t breathe. With his chest heaving, he tries to take in something through his nose and mouth, anything that will calm him down.

There’s a sound on the end of the line.

“Dan?”

“Hey,” he says, his breathing getting deeper with every shaky inhalation. “Are you-?”

“At the office? No,” she replies. “Not feeling too peachy. Are you alright? You sound... panicked.”

“I guess you could say that.” His breaths continue to get deeper, to the point where he feels lightheaded and his knees almost buckle underneath him. “I’ll b-be fine. I’m just outside my, uh, my apartment.”

This is bad. It’s been at least a year since he’s had an anxiety attack as severe as this. As his apartment building looms ahead, black spots begin to dance across his vision. Elle says something, but his brain doesn’t compute it.

“Dan! Listen to me!” she orders, her voice firm. “You’re having an anxiety attack. Go back to your apartment building. I’m coming to help.”

Dan stumbles with the key before turning it in the lock and shoving through the door. Once he’s pulled his keys out and almost made it to the lift he hates so much, he drops them. They fall to the floor, the sound making his ears ring. His line of sight is almost completely black now.

“Why didn’t you – you-”

Everything’s spinning as the ringing gets louder.

“Why didn’t I what? Dan? Dan!”

 

* * *

 

 

Dan’s eyes flicker open to his bedroom ceiling, dappled with sunlight. If he looks hard enough, he can see tiny sparks of red and blue scattered across the stucco. He can't decide if they're lingering phosphenes or his imagination. Raising his hands up, he rubs his tear ducts, blinks a few times and tries to come to his senses.

He doesn’t remember making it to his apartment before losing consciousness, and he can’t think clearly while there’s still this incessant ringing in his ears. The whirring noise of it occupies his mind until he’s tempted to turn over and fall back asleep just to make it stop.

He pushes on his elbows until he’s sitting upright, his back against the headboard. Exhaling deeply, he wiggles his toes as if to remind himself that he’s _alive_ and at home and safe now. Nothing in these four walls can hurt him as long as he’s here.

A glass of water sits on his bedside table, which he takes a grateful sip from. Someone – Elle, presumably – must have brought him up here. He doesn’t remember giving her a key to his building, but there’s another time to worry about that. Right now he’s focused on trying to stand up without his legs wobbling.

The coolness of the water helps to ground him further and wake him up. Setting the glass back down, he swings his legs over the side of his bed and lets his socked feet come into contact with the carpeted floor. Elle had been nice enough to take off his shoes.

Once he’s stood up, he hears voices trailing down the corridor to his bedroom. Ignoring how much he wants to see his reflection, he trudges over, opens his bedroom door and looks up to see Elle with Phil beside her.

“Dan,” she says, hurrying over to him. “Are you okay now?”

Dan can’t put the words together to reply, instead looking at Phil. Phil looks back at him, his expression soft and concerned. Why did Elle bring him here?

Elle follows his line of sight. “Oh yeah, Phil’s here too.”

Phil waves unceremoniously. Dan swallows, nodding his head slightly in recognition.

“I thought he could help,” Elle explains. “I have his details from the office’s database. Guess I forgot about his arm. It was an absolute _bitch_ trying to carry you up here. I’m not weak, but-”

“Elle,” he says, cutting her off. “Stop.”

“Okay, I’m stopping. What’s up?”

“I know.”

Phil’s expression says he knows what Dan’s talking about. It takes a little longer for Elle to realise. She frowns.

“What do you know?”

“I know all of it,” he mutters. “Alex. The abuse. Hell, I’d even be inclined to think that Phil’s accident was deliberate just so he had an alibi.”

Elle’s eyes widen, the words seemingly caught in her mouth. “I thought you were a defence attorney, not a detective.”

“The two feed into each other,” he replies. “Can we go to the living room? I need answers and my back is killing me.”

Phil turns around and makes his way into the living room with the other two following suit. They each sit on a sofa of their own, a comfortable distance away from each other. Well, not comfortable – if anything, this is the least comfortable Dan’s ever felt in his life.

His best friend and someone who he’s grown to trust in the past month or so sit in complete silence. Their mouths are clamped shut and eyes trained on the coffee table sitting in the middle, their expressions blank and impassive.

For someone who’s normally so emotional, Phil seems the opposite. He probably feels caught in a crossfire of wanting to maintain both Dan’s and Elle’s trust. Dan has to give it to him – he played his cards well. Almost too well, to the point where Dan’s undeniably fond of the guy.

“You can quit the whole downcast thing you’ve got going on now,” Dan starts.

“Christ, Dan, calm down. I wasn’t even acting,” Elle fires back. “Why are you in such a mood?”

Dan can’t bite back the laugh that comes out. “Why am _I_ in a mood? Let me think. It could be something do with how one of my best friends in the entire world didn’t think to tell me that she’s been liaising with my client while the person who’s suing my client is abusing her. Yeah, maybe it’s that.”

“It’s not that easy,” she defends herself. Dan sees tears welling up in her eyes and immediately feels a thousand times worse for taking the approach he did.

He wishes he could help it. He’s spent so much time trying to figure out how everything fits together, and the second he’s nearly heard the truth, he’s about to throw all his personal relationships out of the way.

“I can imagine,” he says, his voice subdued compared to his previous sudden outburst. “I just wish you trusted me enough to say.”

“Of course I trust you on a personal level,” Elle replies. “Professionally I couldn’t trust you to not go to the authorities and tell them.”

Dan glances over at Phil. “I can’t go to them. Not after all this.”

Elle looks at Phil, then Dan, then back to Phil again. “Sorry, did I miss something here? What’s ‘all this’?”

“We made out a couple of times,” Phil says.

“But that’s not what’s important here,” Dan quickly interjects.

“Oh, that’s important too!” Elle responds, her voice rising. “That’s malpractice! You could get everything taken away if someone finds out about that!”

“Why d’you think he kept his mouth shut, then?” Phil deadpans.

Elle promptly quietens down and leans back. “Fine. I guess I should have trusted you to not tell tales immediately. I’m... I’m sorry.”

Dan stands up, manoeuvres round the coffee table and leans down with open arms. Elle rises to meet him and winds her arms around Dan’s neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. He can feel how she’s shaking, how neither of them want to be having this conflict right now.

“I should be the one who’s sorry,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m so sorry anyone would ever put you through that.”

“It was mostly emotional anyway,” she says, pulling away and sitting back down. Dan sits down beside her and listens intently. “Well, I guess I’ve started now. Might as well say the rest.”

“Elle,” Phil interrupts, concern etched into his face.

“He deserves to know,” she cuts him off. “Here goes nothing.

“It started at New Year’s Eve. We were at this party and I started grinding on him or something. Then he gave me his number. We texted on and off for the next couple of months and saw each other here and there. He invited me to work on one of his projects – some acting for a short film thing.”

“The same one he’s suing you for?” Dan asks Phil.

He nods. “That was how we met.”

Elle continues. “On set Alex was weirdly playful with me. He kept calling me these odd names and cracking jokes. Said something about slapping the expression off my face.”

“Gross,” Dan mutters.

Phil hums in agreement. “The first proper conversation I ever had with Elle was me asking if she was okay with what he was doing. She said it was, so I left it. I kept an eye on her for the rest of the project.”

“Alex then apologised,” she adds. “He was so sincere and apologetic that I forgave him. Then he asked me out on a date and it felt wrong to refuse after he’d been so nice to me.

“That was the start of the cycle. He’d act like a prick, then apologise and ask to make it up to me. He bought me flowers and took me out to nice dinners and treated me like a princess. I just... put up with it. I thought I’d have been stupid to push him away and take care of myself when he went above and beyond to right any wrongs he’d done.

“Then he gave me a key to his house and things escalated. We were in a kind of friend-with-benefits limbo for a while. I eventually agreed to be his girlfriend at the start of summer.”

“Was he violent in bed?” Dan asks gently.

“Yeah,” Elle replies, her voice cracking. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. He’d squeeze me until his fingers left bruises. One time he – he nearly suffocated me.”

Dan’s fists clench. “He almost killed you?”

Elle brings her hands to her neck and crosses them over, digging her thumbs under her jaw. Tears slip from her eyes and splash onto her forearms, soaking into her jumper. When she drops her hands, her head hangs down with them.

“I kept checking up on her,” Phil mentions. “That was the only time she admitted to not being okay. I invited her to stay at my place until she felt ready to face Alex, but he found out.”

“How?”

“He probably noticed I didn’t contact him for a week and got angry,” Elle suggests, her voice thick and choked up. “He’s good with the technical side of things. Might have tracked my phone or something.”

“Did he know where you were?”

“He knew where her phone was and he knew my address,” Phil says. “Then he put two and two together. He came over later that day and begged on his knees for Elle to forgive him.”

“Yes, I forgave him,” Elle reads Dan’s mind. “Looking back it seems so stupid, but in the moment it was the logical thing to do. I didn’t want him getting any more aggressive.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dan counters. “How long did it continue on like that for?”

“Another couple of months. It was early September that Phil suggested doing something about it.”

“It involves the lawsuit,” Phil adds. “She convinced him to sue me.”

“You _what_?”

“I uploaded our film to my website after he’d uploaded his. He didn’t credit me anywhere. I was annoyed, but willing to let it go. Elle talked him into suing me for copyright infringement so I had a reason to go to his house.”

“Bones to pick,” Dan murmurs. “I get it. Did you plan on injuring him?”

“No,” Phil sighs. “I wanted to confront him about how badly he was mistreating Elle. He made some comment about the lawsuit that completely set me off. I was angry already, but I know how to control my anger. He doesn’t. His hands on my shoulders were so tight they could have drawn blood.”

“So it was self defence.”

He nods. “It got him out of the picture for a while. There’s no way of making him feel the pain he’s made Elle feel for so long now.”

Elle shakes her head. “Nobody deserves to go through that.”

“He does,” Dan says. “This is a bad thing to say, but things would be a hell of a lot easier if he was dead.”

“Right?” Phil laughs bitterly. “We can’t kill him, though.”

“We can’t do anything like that,” Elle pleads. “We can’t.”

“Death is a little extreme, but filing for a restraining order isn’t,” Dan suggests suddenly. “I’m more than willing to be your lawyer for that.”

“You don’t specialise in prosecution,” she argues. “And I... I just, we can’t, okay?”

“We can and we are,” Dan insists. “It’s the only way we know you can be safe.”

“This isn’t relevant,” she retaliates. When Dan tries to stop her, she waves her arm in front of him and signals for him to be quiet. “We can discuss this once we’ve finished the story.”

“What’s there to discuss?”

“Where I come into it?” Elle says, frowning. “Unless Phil told you about that.”

“I summarised,” Phil replies.

“Okay. I’ll say it in more depth. I’d been texting Phil that day and he said he was going to talk things over with Alex. I said I’d be available to come back and diffuse the situation, so I waited in my car. Then Phil texted me and said there’d been an accident and he needed help.

“I unlocked the door and called out for Alex and he was... lying there completely unconscious. At the time I couldn’t really process what I was feeling, so I just shoved my emotions down for the time being. Then I saw Phil leaving through the back gate and called out to him. He didn’t hear me, so I texted him and told him to stop. Thank god he has his ringer on.

“Anyway, so he cycled round and I came out of the house. I couldn’t stand there while Alex lay there. He could have been dead for all I knew. Phil was panicking, saying they could trace his DNA and how he was a murderer and whatnot. Then I came up with a plan.”

“Which was?” Dan pushes further. He has a feeling he already knows what her plan was.

“I let Phil cycle on ahead and I followed behind. When we were near work, I swerved into him and knocked him off his bike. Then I doubled back and cleared stuff up and called the emergency services.”

Dan’s been through so many changes of what happened that hearing the truth, open and unashamed, doesn’t feel how he expects it to. There’s no sense of gratification or relief, just emptiness and reluctance to accept what’s going on.

“And then I found him.”

“Yeah,” Elle grins. “You always come into work at the same time, so I figured you’d be nearby and might have seen anything that happened.”

“I did,” Dan says, turning to Phil. “And that’s why you recognised the number plate. This whole time I thought it was an unlucky day for you.”

“That kind of coincidence can’t be a coincidence,” Phil muses. “It wasn’t all that unlucky.”

“You dislocated your shoulder and broke your arm in two places,” Dan fires back. “How is that in any way lucky?”

Looking him straight in the eyes, Phil replies, “You found me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been over a month? oops?
> 
> follow me on tumblr @awrfhi and yell at me to write lmao

Dan lets a surprised noise escape his mouth.

“Phil,” he says, blinking.

Elle rolls her eyes. “Save it for when I’m not here.”

“Homophobe,” he mutters jokingly, trying to bring himself back to reality.

The next small while is spent putting plans in place. Despite Elle’s best attempts, Dan forces her to file for a restraining order and set the ball rolling. She’s spent long enough trying to deal with this herself. The least he and Phil can do is help to ease her mind however they can.

Phil and Elle leave a short while later with the promise that they’ll keep in contact. Dan shuts the door behind them with a small smile on his face. For the first time in a while, he feels like he has two genuine friends, something that leaves a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

True to their word, a couple of texts come buzzing in minutes after they’ve left.

_Phil: Hello gc_

_Elle: !!!_

_Dan: stop texting and walking kids you need to get home safe_

_Elle: :(_

_Elle: oh yeah btw i’m crashing at phil’s for a while until i can finalise moving_

_Dan: moving??_

_Phil: Yeah before Alex gets out of hospital_

_Elle: i’ve contacted his family they’ll take care of him now_

_Elle: plus his shower is leaky it’s fucking annoying_

_Dan: language_

_Phil: Nothing you haven’t used_

_Elle: ooooh get em_

_Dan: point taken_

_Dan: anyway have fun and don’t do anything too disastrous i have to do work_

_Dan: also elle remember what i said i mean it_

_Phil: I won’t let her forget dw_

When the conversation dies down, he turns his attention back to what he really should be doing. He spends a couple of hours rearranging times to see the clients he neglected and putting in the necessary effort to be the best lawyer he can be for them.

Around dinnertime, he gives up and orders a takeaway for dinner before slumping on his couch. Part of him wants to call Phil and invite him over, but he stops himself. Recently, his tendency to forget that he should only be around him in a professional manner has been increasing.

Over the next week, things go back to as normal as he can hope for. He gets his usual combination on the way to work, talks to people and walks home. He messages the group chat when he’s not busy or far too heavily invested in a TV show. The occasional time, he even goes to a supermarket and buys himself supplies to cook or bake with.

One evening finds him in bed with his laptop and a warm tray of brownies. He barely registers the calories he’s consuming by the bucketload, too preoccupied with what’s blinking at him from the screen. It’s the name of a law firm not too far from where he is, one that’s highly likely to have Alex as one of their clients (unless his research is all completely wrong).

The firm specialises in copyright claims and seems self-righteous enough to take on someone like him, Dan reckons. He scribbles down their details and calculates how long it’ll take for him to walk there, already planning the next day’s activities.

His phone says the walk could be up to 40 minutes and Dan groans. Physically he’s not _unfit_ , but the idea of walking for that long anywhere makes him want to curl up and never leave his bed. He opts for booking a taxi before shoving the now-empty tray into the sink and filling it up with hot water and washing up liquid.

When he’s making his way back to bed, his phone flashes with a notification. Part of him expects it to be Phil or Elle, but it’s instead a rather salty reminder from Apple that his phone hasn’t been backed up in 100 weeks. He grins – he’s nearly made it to 2 years.

Something in his mind tells him to text Phil and let him know what’s going on. Against his better judgement, he goes to their private chat and types out a quick message.

_Dan: hey hi hello_

_Phil: I see you on this private chat mister_

_Phil: What’s happening_

_Dan: i uh might have a lead_

_Phil: Lead?_

_Dan: yeah_

_Dan: i think i’ve found alex’s law firm and i may or may not be going there tomorrow to try to convince his lawyer to drop the case_

_Phil: Well that went from 0-100 real quick_

_Phil: Do you think it’ll work_

_Dan: it’s worth a shot_

_Dan: alex seems like such a piece of shit that if his lawyer knew what was really going on he’d be embarrassed to represent him_

_Phil: I mean you’re not wrong but_

_Dan: but_

_Phil: Are you sure it’ll work? Like what kind of ‘evidence’ are you using_

_Dan: that’s the plan for tonight_

_Dan: i’m gonna prove that the video is equally yours and his work_

_Dan: then he’ll realise that there’s no point in suing_

_Phil: That actually sounds like a decent plan_

Dan rolls his eyes, a grin ghosting his lips.

_Dan: wow thanks a bunch_

_Dan: are you free tonight? i could use a second pair of eyes_

_Phil: For finding receipts? I’m in_

_Dan: ok good_

_Dan: but be warned i just ate an entire tray of brownies by myself and i’ve never felt so bloated in my entire life_

_Phil: Damn there goes my backup plan_

_Dan: shut up_

_Dan: and get here soon_

_Phil: Give me like 20 minutes_

He sets his phone down and blinks, trying to process what Phil was just implying. They’ve been as bad as each other recently, saying just enough to get them curious without the need to say anything further.

His subconscious tells him to change into something less ratty and to put some aftershave on. It’s not something that requires much effort, but it makes him feel better about himself. All he can hope is that Phil notices the extra touch.

It seems that Phil does. When he opens his door, Phil latches their lips together and Dan feels him inhale. He hums contentedly against his mouth.

“You smell good,” Phil murmurs.

“Thought you’d appreciate it,” he replies, before leaning for second helpings.

Phil’s lips are ever so slightly swollen when they eventually pull apart. He grins wickedly before leading him into his bedroom and sitting down on one side.

Phil makes himself comfortable as Dan rearranges his Chrome tabs to seem like a more functional human being than he actually is. Most of them are miscellaneous ones that he’s grown an odd connection to and can’t bear to close – the only one that has any relevance is the one open on Phil’s Facebook.

“So you’ve been stalking me,” Phil notes, leaning his shoulder against Dan’s.

“Just to see if you’re friends with anyone who helped you on the day you made the film.”

“Elle was there.”

“Wouldn’t she be angry if she found out about this?” he frowns. “She convinced him to sue you.”

“So I’d have a reason to go to his house,” Phil counters. “It was never really about the film.”

“I guess,” Dan trails off. “Still. She has enough on her plate already. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Fair enough.”

Phil sweeps his hair back carelessly and Dan drinks in the movement as subtly as he can from where he’s sat. The lack of space between them becomes apparent, to the point where it feels like his shoulder is burning. He doesn’t know if he wants to inch closer to it, to sink into this molten, visceral heat that’s welling up in the pit of his stomach, or shy away and pretend nothing ever happened.

He shies away. Phil takes control of his laptop and flicks through pages of friends until they’re able to compile a list of everyone involved on the day of the shoot. Dan watches, waits, wills himself to breathe and cool down.

“I think that’s everyone,” Phil says eventually. “I have their numbers. I can text them now.”

“Not now,” he thinks, but the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

Phil’s forehead creases.

“Then what do you propose we do instead?”

His voice is low, far too low, and before Dan can stop himself he’s shoving his laptop out of the way and crawling into Phil’s lap. He’s careful to avoid his bad arm as he raises his hands to smooth Phil’s hair back and lace his fingers through it.

“Stress relief?” he offers.

Phil shakes his head. “You’re worth more than that. Besides, I doubt there’ll be much relief while I’m still in a sling.”

Dan presses his face ever closer to Phil’s and lets their noses brush together.

“I was offering to relieve you,” he explains. Phil inhales sharply.

“If that’s the case, I’m all yours.”

“How do you want it?”

“You offered stress relief,” Phil replies, his breathing steadily increasing.

“You don’t know what you’ve just signed yourself up for,” Dan teases, moving back until he’s off Phil’s lap. Phil moves his legs to the sides so Dan can sit inbetween them. “You’ll be boneless after this.”

“If you say so.”

His gaze flickers down to his jeans, where Dan’s hands rest, silently waiting for the go-ahead. Phil looks at him, letting his eye contact do the talking. Dan’s eyes glimmer before he unbuttons Phil’s jeans.

With one of Phil’s arms out of action, Dan ends up tugging his jeans off completely. It’s nowhere near as fluid or attractive as he hoped it would be, but Phil doesn’t seem to care one bit. If what’s lying underneath his jeans is anything to go by, he seems far from bored.

“Take off your shirt,” Phil instructs. “Want to see you.”

Dan complies, pulling his tshirt off over his head and discarding it. He sits back and tries not to blush as Phil’s gaze travels up and down, soaking in every detail.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. “So, so pretty.”

He smiles and lowers himself down until he’s facing Phil’s boxers. They’re dark blue and sinfully tight, to the point where he can see Phil’s cock straining against them. He’s almost comically big.

He slowly opens his mouth and presses it against Phil’s length, revelling in the thickness and warmth and throbbing pulse between his lips. Above him, Phil tries to suppress a moan.

Dan pulls his mouth away and looks up. “Be as loud as you want.”

His mouth is replaced with his hand as it massages Phil’s length. It’s already starting to feel half-hard, tightening against his boxers. Without any shed of restraint, Phil lets out a soft whine and it’s the most glorious thing Dan reckons he’s heard in his entire life.

What they’re doing is so wrong, so off-limits, that it feels right. Dan shouldn’t be anywhere near Phil’s cock, feeling himself grow tense with anticipation. Phil shouldn’t be making noises like the kinds of noises he’s making, but he is, and they’re together on Dan’s bed and he’s been craving this for so long that to wait any longer seems impossible.

He slips one finger, then another, under Phil’s waistband and pulls down until his cock bobs free. To savour the wait, he slips his boxers off past his feet and sits back, letting out a low whistle.

“You never told me you were so long,” he says, lying back down.

“You’re my fucking lawyer,” Phil chides him, sounding like he’s on the brink of being wrecked.

“I stopped being your lawyer a while back.”

He sits, at the point of no return, and decides to drown out any rationality left in his mind.

His tongue darts out and licks a stripe on the underside of Phil’s cock, stopping at his slit. The first few drops of precum are bitter and salty, but he makes a point of swallowing anyway.

“Fuck,” Phil grunts. “You never told me you’re some kind of blowjob Olympian.”

Dan takes Phil’s head in his mouth and laughs, letting the vibrations tease him further. Phil lets out a string of profanities as Dan starts doing what he said he would. He swirls his tongue around and loosens his jaw to take as much of him as he can, hot and long and tender.

The air around them is low, filled with the borderline filthy sound of Dan’s mouth sliding up and down. Phil’s hips shake with the restraint it’s taking him not to thrust up, to meet Dan in the middle, and for that much he’s grateful. For their first time, it’s been surprisingly problem free.

Dan finds out what Phil responds to quicker than expected. He likes tongue, likes vibrations and likes it when Dan sinks down as far as he can. When Dan gets down far enough, he breathes out through his nose to tickle the trail of hair above and Phil shakes even harder.

“I’m close,” Phil says.

Dan pulls off and uses his hand to finish him. He comes in shaky spurts across Dan’s chest and Dan lets him, massaging him until he’s soft and wilting.

Before Phil says anything else, Dan’s pulling down his sweatpants and boxers and wrapping his fingers around himself, sighing at the relief it brings. He tugs up and down as Phil watches, too wrecked to even form a coherent sentence.

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall back, a pent up groan falling from his mouth and diffusing into the space between them. He can feel himself getting there, his mind clouded over with how Phil felt in him and how he ached while hearing Phil lose control.

Then he feels Phil’s hand gently moving his feverish one out of the way and replacing it with his. He gasps, opening his eyes and looking down. It looks as good as it feels.

“This was supposed to...” he trails off, his entire body throbbing. “To be for, ah, you.”

“But you made me feel so good,” Phil replies, his voice deep and rich. “I had to return the favour.”

Dan shifts closer to give Phil better access. He spreads his hands over the plane of Phil’s back as he steadily increases the pace, digging his nails in when Phil tugs him slightly rougher. Phil hisses and chases Dan’s lips with his own.

Their kisses are haphazard and sloppy at best, but Dan can’t help how good it feels. It feels like he’s a bottle of champagne and Phil’s twisted the cork out. Before, he was so wound up and tight and tense, but now the tension has shifted and intensified and he can hardly think.

Without warning, he comes over Phil’s hand, sighing into his mouth. His hands cradle Phil’s cheeks as his breathing slowly returns to normal, his limbs now spent.

He rolls over and pants, sweat beading on his forehead. Phil pants beside him, the two of them bathing in the euphoria and the high that comes after letting everything go.

“I’ve needed that for so long,” he sighs, slowly coming back to his senses.

“Me too,” Phil replies. “Ever since you threatened to walk out the first time we met.”

“Fuck,” Dan curses. “It’s been that long?”

“You’re hot when you’re angry,” he defends himself.

Dan laughs and sits up. His eyes widen when he sees Phil. He’s half naked and his hand is covered in his cooling come. His hair is slicked back with sweat and his eyes seem glazed over, his lips plump and swollen.

“You’re hot all the time,” he murmurs. “We should get cleaned up.”

“I’ll need help,” Phil says. “Cast and all.”

“We can see to that.”

Minutes later, when Dan’s finally managed to wrestle Phil out of his tshirt without hurting him, they stand in Dan’s bathroom. He slides Phil’s sling off before looking at his cast and frowning.

“Not to kill the mood, but you’re probably going to need a plastic bag for that.”

He runs into his kitchen and grabs the first plastic bag he can find, along with with a rubber band. When he’s back, he slides the bag on Phil’s arm and ties it at the top with the band. Phil nods accordingly.

“That isn’t too shabby.”

“I’m alright with my hands,” he replies nonchalantly.

“But you’re better with your mouth,” Phil smiles, leaning in to kiss him.

Dan pulls away to lead him into the shower, angling him away from the flow of the water. The shower they’re in isn’t designed for more than one person, but neither of them care as they slowly make out.

Now that they’ve bared all to each other, all the barriers Dan had up have tumbled down. He’s beyond thinking that what they have is professional, because it simply isn’t anymore. There’s no way he’s going back from this, from kissing Phil as his bathroom fills up with steam and licking into his mouth.

They stand there for a sweet eternity, lazy and slow and gentle. Eventually, Dan gets around to lathering his hands with body wash and scrubbing Phil all over, rubbing circles into his chest and neck and back. If his hands wander further down than they’re supposed to, Phil doesn’t mention it.

As Phil stands in the water and rinses himself off, Dan quickly washes himself and they swap places. Then he turns off the shower and they step out. He rummages in a cupboard, finds some towels he didn’t know he had and offers them to Phil.

When they’re dry, Dan finds a tshirt and pyjama bottoms for Phil to wear.

(Neither of them discuss whether he’s staying over or not. Neither of them feel the need to.)

They crawl into bed and cuddle up together, Dan with his arm across Phil’s waist and Phil’s good arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Dan pulls Phil’s hand towards him and presses a kiss into his palm. He folds his fingers down afterwards and Phil keeps it closed. The gesture is enough to make him grin like an idiot.

As night draws in, Dan takes in the moment. He takes in how they’re pressed flush together, how Phil’s breath rustles his hair, how he never wants this night to end. From such unassuming beginnings, he ended up delving deeper than he expected.

Somehow, it isn’t enough. Somehow, he feels like he could know everything there is to know about Phil and there would still be more.

“G’night,” Phil says, rubbing his thumb across Dan’s shoulder.

“Goodnight.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back to semi-regular updates now! thank u so much for the continued patience <3 
> 
> @awrfhi on tumblr - come say hi :')

For the first time in months, Dan doesn’t wake up to an empty bed and a perpetual sense of loneliness. Far from it, even.

Instead he wakes up to sight that he lets himself indulge in, one of a man sleeping next to him, his dark hair gently splayed against the pillow and his arm loose but firm around his shoulders. He exhales, shuffling back to his current source of warmth and happiness and protection.

It might be wrong to let himself indulge, but he does anyway. He savours the moment for all it’s worth because he doesn’t know when another opportunity like this will come. He doesn’t know if Phil plans to stay for any determinable length of time – for all he knows, what they have could be blissfully temporary.

Deep down, he really hopes it isn’t. He isn’t the type to get infatuated, that much hasn’t changed, but he is the type to develop an intense, burning curiosity for someone. He wants to know Phil for all he is, physical and emotional, past and present.

On the other hand, he’s also the type to develop irrational fears about people. Even if Phil were to initiate anything, his mind always screams out in protest, tries to convince him that he’ll get hurt if he allows things to continue.

As Phil eventually stirs, his fears seem to die down. They fizzle out further when Phil opens his eyes and Dan sees his vision snap into focus. He looks up to meet his gaze, and he’s very nearly taken aback at how stunning his irises are up close. They’re a fierce shade of grey-blue from afar, but his pupils are surrounded by chasms of green and gold. If it’s even possible, they seem to shine brighter when Phil looks at him.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Phil mumbles, his voice thick with remnants of sleep.

The words are laced with such genuine adoration and sincerity that Dan feels like his heart could crack open and ignite his veins. He smiles and lets his teeth poke out, as if that can communicate to him in any way how much he’s been affected by what he just said.

“Don’t make me fall deeper,” he replies teasingly.

“You’ve fallen, have you?”

“I guess you could say that.”

He closes the gap between them briefly, in part because he can but also because he now has this desire to prove to Phil how he feels.

When he pulls away, something akin to a whine bubbles in Phil’s throat.

“Morning breath,” he explains. “Once we’ve had breakfast and brushed our teeth you can kiss me all you like.”

Instead of replying, Phil removes his arm from around Dan’s shoulder and cups his face with it, the pad of his thumb resting on his lips. Dan presses a feather-light kiss to it and brings his hand up to meet Phil’s.

Without either of them having to say anything, the air is thick with the knowledge that things have changed significantly after the previous night’s events. It was electric and all-consuming, but also impossibly tender and hesitant. Above all, it was something he enjoyed.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy sex, but it started to feel like a chore or routine after a while. There are only so many things you can do in terms of foreplay with complete strangers. With Phil, the utter unpredictability and spontaneity of it made it feel like so much more than something physical.

“Don’t want to move just yet,” Phil says, his palm flat underneath Dan’s. “I like this.”

“I like it too,” Dan whispers. They pause, and for some reason unknown to him it feels like the world is holding its breath. “Do you think this could happen again?”

“That’s very unprofessional of you,” he teases. “You’re my lawyer.”

“Say that again in 12 hours’ time and it might be different. I might not be your lawyer then.”

“It’ll make this a lot easier and less illegal,” Phil hums. “And by the way, I’d like it to happen again. Maybe even multiple times.”

Dan fakes a gasp. “Multiple times?”

“We’ve barely scratched the surface. Imagine all the things we can do with time.”

Talking about a future together is oddly easy for them. Dan doesn’t feel like he’s rushing into things – if anything, it isn’t happening quickly enough. He’s lived 25 years of his life without something to ground himself, to tether to. Now that Phil’s waltzed into the picture, he wants to cling on and never let go.

He does that physically. He hugs Phil’s waist tighter and lazily loops a leg around him and Phil chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss into his hair.

“I must admit, I’m quite ridiculously infatuated with you,” he says.

“I’m quite ridiculously infatuated with you too.”

They stay like that for another few moments, a mass of long limbs with two steadily fluttering heartbeats and two mouths they can hardly keep off each other. When they finally manage to drag themselves out of Dan’s bed, it’s accompanied by tired sighs. Their sluggishness seems to diffuse into the air, making everything around them thick and slow like molasses. None of their body parts are as functional as they need to be.

Phil leans on the doorframe and watches Dan as he prepares them breakfast. It’s nothing fancy, as he’s so used to grabbing his meals on the go, but there’s something about the person he’s sharing breakfast with that makes an ordinary bowl of cereal and mug of tea better than anything he could buy from a café.

“Do you drink tea?” he asks, filling up his mug with hot water and watching as the flavour and colour bleeds out of the teabag.

“I normally have coffee,” Phil replies.

“So you’re a coffee pleb? How interesting.”

Phil’s small protest goes largely unnoticed by both of them. Dan rummages through a cupboard and finds a tub of instant coffee he didn’t realise he had. Showing it to Phil with a questioning look on his face, Phil smiles and nods his head.

“Is it weird that I like instant coffee?”

“There are quite a few things about you that are weird, but that isn’t one of them.”

When they each have their respective bowls and mugs (they had to settle for cornflakes with added sugar), they make themselves comfortable on the sofa and eat together. What happened the night before has been shifted onto the backburner for a bit, with them instead opting to talk about what happened _before_ the night before.

“What time is it?” Phil asks.

Dan glances at his phone. “Around 11. Why?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to, you know...”

“Visit Alex’s lawyer?” Phil nods. “This afternoon at some point. Around 2 or 3.”

“Do you need any mutual support with you?”

Dan nearly spits out his mouthful of cereal. When he’s just about suppressed his fond laughter, he swallows and side eyes Phil.

“It depends. Are you asking me because you care about how this goes or because you want an excuse to spend more time with me?”

Phil shrugs and then winces. Dan’s noticed he tends to forget about his shoulder injury a lot, something that doesn’t help when he’s trying to demonstrate nonchalance.

“Both,” he replies.

“Hm.”

Dan eats a couple more spoonfuls of overly sugared cornflakes contemplatively. As much as he wants to spend the whole day with Phil, someone who he’s just realised is very important to him, he doesn’t want to damage their professional relationship because of his own selfishness.

Alex’s lawyer has probably seen photos of Phil and has his appearance down to every hair on his head. He must have – it’s not unusual for attorneys to study the person their client is trying to sue. In his own personal experience, you can tell a lot about someone from minor details that are often overlooked.

That’s exactly the reason why he’s worried about bringing Phil. It feels like leading a lamb to the slaughter, more pain than it’s worth. And he cares about him too much to do that.

“I don’t think you should come,” he says eventually. Phil looks slightly crestfallen. “Alex’s lawyer might recognise you. It’d look really bad if I tried to convince him to drop the lawsuit with you there. It’ll look like you sent me to do it.”

“Even if I wear a disguise?” Phil says lightheartedly. “Some sunglasses, a backwards baseball cap, I don’t know.”

“Even if you wear a disguise,” Dan sighs. “There’s one thing you could do for me, though.”

Phil perks up. “Which is?”

“Be here when I get back.”

 

* * *

 

 

In all honesty, Dan thought he would enjoy not having to walk to his destination. It gives him the opportunity to arrive without looking like a sweaty excuse of a human being and to rest his feet. It also means that his journey back to Phil is quicker, but it’s not like he’s counting down the hours until he can see him again.

They’re officially in a phase that they’ve established as being somewhere between the honeymoon phase and the inbetween phase. Everything is saccharine and free flowing and wonderfully easy, and they can’t get enough of each other’s company. At the same time, though, they haven’t put any labels on what they are to each other.

(As far as Dan’s concerned, he’s fine with Phil just being Phil. His Phil. It has a nice ring to it.)

The increasing depth of what he feels for Phil only makes his task harder. He doesn’t want to see Phil’s reaction if he tells him he couldn’t get Alex’s lawyer to drop the case. He can already picture the slight twinge of disappointment in his mind’s eye, and it stings more than he expects it to.

Added pressure to what’s ahead consequently makes his journey less enjoyable. He decides to put his earbuds in and drown everything out with some particularly tuneless 80s music.

From his window, Manchester passes by in a blur of bricked up buildings and various shades of polluted grey. Whenever the taxi stops at a set of traffic lights, he peers up and out. The sky is just as grey as everything else.

A few minutes later, the taxi stops and the man announces the fare (£9 – he’s pleasantly surprised). Once he’s stepped outside, he looks up at the building in front of him and takes a few grounding breaths.

_Here goes nothing._

A few steps and a set of revolving doors later, he’s inside what has to be the most ostentatious law firm he’s ever seen. Each wall is filled with photos of what he suspects are happy clients, grinning madly and shaking hands with their lawyer. The floor underneath him is so clean it’s almost reflective, casting back the afternoon light tumbling from the windows behind.

The people milling about look like they fit in perfectly. Dan’s wearing a suit and he still feels underdressed for the occasion. In hindsight, he could have stopped Phil from picking the suit and helping him change into it, but his mind was in other places while that happened.

He relives the moment in his head: Phil’s fingers brushing against his chest, how he’d pressed a kiss at the base of his throat while pulling his trousers up. If it had continued any longer, he probably wouldn’t be where he is right now. Then again, if Phil’s true to his word, there’s time for that later.

When he’s finished daydreaming, he wanders over to the reception and smiles at the receptionist. Out of everyone he’s seen in this building so far, they look the most approachable, which is handy he supposes.

“Hello,” they greet him. “How can I help?”

“Hi,” he replies evenly. “I booked a meeting with Mr Prescott?”

“And your name is..?”                                                                                      

“Howell. Dan Howell. It might be Daniel depending on formalities.”                                                                         

The receptionist sighs a subtle you-just-had-to-make-my-life-that-much-harder sigh before directing their attention at the computer. After a few seconds, they look up and smile.

“You’re down for 3pm,” they say. “Mr Prescott should come to meet you a couple of minutes before that. In the meantime please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

He sits down in a sofa that’s an adequate length away from everyone else and goes to text Phil.

_Dan: fully just had a daydream about what happened earlier_

The reply comes back quicker than expected.

_Elle: ..what happened earlier_

_Dan: WRONG CHAT_

_Dan: BOLLOCKS_

_Elle: you can’t just leave me hanging like that what happened earlier_

_Phil: Bollocks??_

_Dan: nice of you to show up_

_Phil: I know I’m so lovely_

_Phil: Also are there are snacks anywhere I searched your cupboard and all I could find was a sock_

_Dan: so That’s where it went i’ve been looking for that sock_

_Elle: phil are you at dan’s???_

_Elle: wait forget the sock_

_Elle: you two fucked didn’t you omg_

_Dan: ELLE_

_Phil: Lol_

_Dan: don’t go straight on me_

_Elle: oh phil.. if only there was a way of proving how you’re not straight_

_Elle: like.._

_Phil: .._

_Elle: ok let me take a different approach_

_Elle: where were you last night at 9pm_

_Phil: At Dan’s? I thought we’d established that_

_Elle: i’m being thorough_

_Elle: what were you doing_

_Phil: Dan_

_Elle: ASHDGFKSHJAS_

_Dan: well there’s your answer_

_Dan: oh dearie me it looks like i have to leave right now oh no gosh darn goodbye_

Swiftly turning his phone off, Dan looks up and prays that this Mr Prescott comes soon. The last thing he wants to do is read the chat again, especially in light of what they just confirmed. Technically they didn’t answer what he’d daydreamed about, but he reckons Elle’s occupied enough already.

It’s almost like Mr Prescott can read minds. He turns the corner as Dan’s looking around and presses his palms together decisively.

“Daniel?”

Dan stands up and goes to meet him. They shake hands, and he notices that Mr Prescott enjoys squeezing the blood out of his fingers. He nurses that hand behind his back while Mr Prescott (he really hopes he doesn’t have to say that name too many more times – it’s tiring) leads the way to his office.

The office he finds himself in is so unnecessarily lavish that Dan has to suppress a laugh. Everything is in its right place – angled a certain way, polished to death and largely untouched. Part of him wonders how Mr Prescott even gets anything done in here.

“Take a seat,” he says, walking around his desk and sitting down himself.

“This is a lovely office,” Dan replies warmly. “If I might ask, where did you get the money for any of this? You must have been in the business for quite some time.”

Mr Prescott looks at him with confusion etched into his features. “Just over 8 years, actually.”

“So, your yearly salary is around £75000,” he continues, resting his ankle on his knee. “Factoring in other things like travel costs, living costs, etc. that doesn’t leave much space. Especially not for black opal cufflinks. Those look like the real deal.”

“They are, as a matter of fact. But we’re not here to discuss that.” Mr Prescott offers a tight lipped smile. “You arranged a meeting to talk about one of my clients.”

“I did,” Dan says, smiling back. “Alex Lawson. He has a copyright infringement claim that I was hoping to clean up.”

“‘Clean up?’ It’s not as simple as that.”

“So you didn’t read up about me before this meeting?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” Dan snaps back. “Allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m Dan Howell J.D. Or Esquire. Whichever you prefer. I graduated from Manchester University with a first in law. So, believe me when I say I know it’s not as simple as I’m making it out to be.”

“You think you can just pop in for a cup of tea and expect me to drop a claim, Mr Howell?”

The tension is stifling between them, and in an odd way, Dan loves it. He loves confrontation when he knows he’s right. Mr Prescott might have more years of experience than him, but from what he’s gathered, he also has a predilection for choosing cases that have high-paying clients regardless of whether they’re worth pursuing or not.

“I won’t need a cup of tea to get what I need from this,” he chuckles. “Just simple legal terminology. Do you know what satisfies a copyright claim according to UK legislation?”

“When someone has wrongfully taken content not belonging to them and redistributed it without permission. That’s why Mr Lawson approached me and I accepted.”

“So someone stole and redistributed Mr Lawson’s work without his permission. That’s fair enough. What Mr Lawson failed to mention to you was that the defendant in this case co-directed the film concerned and edited the entire thing. If my calculations are correct, that means that the defendant is wrongfully being sued.”

“And how do I know to believe you?”

“I’m friendly with someone who was an actress on set that day. She’s called Elle Beaufort. I’m not sure if Mr Lawson ever mentioned her, but she has quite damning evidence that proves the defendant’s involvement is equal to his.”

“Do you have any of this evidence?”

Dan mockingly claps his hands together. “I thought you’d never ask! I came prepared, you see. I have a file with a copy of the script used. The script clearly states how it is the property of both Mr Alex Lawson and a certain Mr Phil Lester, I believe.”

Leaning down, he pulls the file from his rucksack and hands it over.

“The important parts are highlighted.”

Mr Prescott’s expression morphs from doubtful to curious in a matter of seconds. Dan sits and waits patiently, knowing that no matter what he says now, the chances of this claim going through are next to none. In a moment of victory, he punches a fist under the desk.

“I’ve been misled,” he says curtly.

“Unfortunately you have,” Dan agrees. “I’m sorry I took such an aggressive approach. It’s just – this is crude of me to say, but Mr Lawson has done some truly awful things to my friend Miss Beaufort. I don’t want him hurting more people than he needs to.”

“O-of course,” Mr Prescott says, somewhere between confused and sympathetic. “I can sort out the relevant criteria from here. I must apologise as well. I wasn’t aware of anything he did to Miss Beaufort.”

“Well... that’s another reason why I came here today.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Miss Beaufort wants to file a restraining order against Mr Lawson to protect herself. I was wondering whether you had any contacts that could help me? I’d wanted to represent her myself, but I lack the expertise.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Mr Prescott’s eyes light up.

“I can certainly help you there.”

Another half an hour later, Dan’s made a new friend, contact and done everything he set out to do. He gives himself a mental pat on the back as he walks out of the building, down the stairs and towards the taxi waiting for him.

Not daring to risk reading the group chat, he checks his notifications to see if there’s anything else to distract him. When he sees a message from Phil, he smiles.

_Phil: Are you coming back soon I’m bored_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @awrfhi on tumblr, come say hello <3

Days pass. Phil stays over at Dan’s more times than either of them care to comment on. Dan keeps in contact with Mr Prescott, who’s been lovely enough to a) completely drop Alex’s claim in favour of Elle’s restraining order and b) let him call him by his first name.

“Michael’s my middle name,” Phil comments when Dan tells him the news.

Dan sips on his tea. “It’s a nice name. We’re not quite at the ‘Mike’ stage yet, but we’re getting there.”

“Are you trying to replace me already?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, dramatically clutching a hand to his chest.

“Good.”

Phil sounds oddly nervous. Frowning, Dan sets his mug down and looks over at him.

“C’mere,” he instructs, lifting an arm up for Phil to snuggle under. “Is something up?”

“I don’t think so,” Phil replies, in a way that’s too deflective for him to not notice.

“Were you really jealous of Michael and I?” he pushes further, running a hand through Phil’s hair. “It’s only professional. For one, he’s not my type at all, and I’m sure his dick isn’t anywhere near as-”

“Dan,” Phil cuts him off.

He pulls his hand away from Phil’s hair in favour of sitting up and moving until he’s staring Phil in the face. His eyes, as ever, give little away. That in itself is a sign; he knows him well enough to know that when his expression is guarded and there’s no twinkle in his eyes, he’s upset.

“We...” he stops himself. “This – this thing we have, it can’t...”

And there it is. Dan had suspected this conversation would spring up at some point. He just never thought Phil would be the one to get things started.

“Continue?” he says, finishing Phil’s sentence.

Phil nods, his lip tugged between his teeth.

“Do you want it to continue?”

Phil nods again, and Dan’s initial panic begins to subside infinitesimally. It had only been recently that they’d confessed their desire to have more than a half professional half whatever-the-hell-it-was relationship. The confession had come so easily, so naturally that Dan was almost scared at how the words tumbled out of his mouth. Maybe he was right to be scared.

“For what it’s worth, I want it to continue, too.”

“It’s just so... risky,” Phil murmurs. “I don’t want to have to feel like someone’s watching us whenever we do anything. Things are bad enough with Alex out of hospital.”

Dan involuntarily grimaces. Talking about Alex is a surefire way of making a conversation uncomfortable.

They’d woken up one morning to Dan’s phone ringing. Luke was on the other end. When he said the news, and mentioned how Alex had reacted to Elle finally leaving him, any hope of a peaceful start to the day before work was ruined. He has that same feeling now as he did that morning – full of gut churning dread, the kind he only gets when he’s in a situation he can’t immediately fix.

“The Alex problem is being handled right now,” Dan reminds him. “If anything happens, Luke can step in and sort it out.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better about this,” Phil says, gesturing between them. “I want this to work. It can’t work until we’re safe.”

“Define ‘safe.’”

“Safe is anywhere Alex isn’t. Safe is you and I in a house by the sea, away from everyone else. Away from people who want to stop us.”

In the heat of the moment, Dan pulls Phil towards him and kisses him square on the mouth. He does it once, then again and again until Phil’s a giggling mess and has to push Dan’s shoulder back so they can pull apart. Phil cradles one side of Dan’s face with his hand and pokes his thumb into his dimple when he smiles.

“Let me keep you safe, then,” Dan suggests. “In a friendly way, romantic way... whatever you want. I won’t hold it against you.”

“You have other things to worry about,” Phil points out.

“Maybe you’re my priority.”

A soft smile melts across his face when he hears that. Lost for words, he glances down, letting his arm drop and his head rest on Dan’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be.”

“You hired me for a reason,” Dan counters. “I’m keeping up my end of the bargain.”

“For free, Dan,” he sighs. “It’s bad enough that I don’t pay you. I can’t keep stretching your patience like this.”

“You could never stretch my patience,” he assures Phil. “That makes it sound like I’m unwilling and that’s so far from the truth. You’re the first good thing that’s happened for a while. I’m not letting you go without some kind of fight.”

“Okay,” Phil says eventually, his voice low.

“Okay to what?”

“To making things work,” he adds on. “To letting you do what you think is best for me. I just want this to be over with.”

Dan wraps his arm tighter around Phil and trails a finger down one side of his face. They sit for a while like that, soaking in each other’s warmth and watching the sun dip below the horizon. While the sunset is beautiful, it reminds Dan that autumn is slowly bleeding into winter, that soon dark evenings and biting cold will return in full force.

The more he stares outside, at the world around him, the more he feels uncomfortable with letting Phil out there. Outside has innumerable faces, innumerable ways of getting hurt. Outside, Dan isn’t sure Phil could protect himself. He doesn’t even think he could protect him.

Not that Phil needs protecting _that_ much. He’s a grown man, and he’s survived up until this point relatively out of harm’s way without knowing of Dan’s existence. He’s smart enough to know what to do in a risky situation, how to feign innocence or plaster a smile when he’s slowly splintering inside.

He’s done it all before in front of Dan in a consultation. He did it so impressively that he managed to convince Dan, a self-proclaimed cynic, that he was devastated about what happened with Alex.

(Looking back, Dan can see some chinks in his armour. At the beginning, his cold front was a strange contrast to his later outburst of emotion, and an even stranger contrast to his sudden confession of apparent murder. But Dan overlooks those things now. There’s no point dwelling on what he could have done differently.)

Dan’s finger strokes down past Phil’s neck and ghosts his shoulder. His frown deepens. Sure, Phil might be able to talk himself out of a problem, but he’s too injured to be able to physically defend himself well. All that does is solidify his need to never let Phil go.

“Stay with me,” he blurts.

Phil looks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Stay here, with me. Stay in this apartment. I have a double bed. I can keep you safe here.”

“I have my own apartment,” Phil replies gently. “Elle’s still there. I need her to be safe too.”

“Then let me stay with you two. We’re safer if we’re all together. It’ll be like a sleepover, or something.”

Phil sits up and kisses Dan’s cheek aggressively. “You’re super fucking smart sometimes, you know that?”

Dan swats him away. “I try.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, one in which Phil rather obviously and unabashedly studies Dan’s face. His eyes start at his hairline and work their way down his forehead, along his temples and down the subtle curve of his jaw. Dan knows he doesn’t have spectacular bone structure, not in the way Phil does, but Phil looks at him like he’s otherworldly, spun from silk or carved out of marble.

He remembers reading something somewhere about how dying stars contain iron and how iron flows through every human being’s veins. He remembers it and smiles to himself, giddy with the childlike thought that maybe, just maybe, Phil looks at him and sees something devastatingly beautiful, something he can save.

He holds onto that thought as tightly as he can, almost as tightly as he holds onto Phil as they fall asleep.

The next day, Dan packs three bags (it’s excessive and he knows it) of items to bring to Phil’s apartment. They range from clothes to toiletries to random ex-police junk that Luke lovingly gifted to him at some point with the purpose of keeping him safe. It was a tiny bottle of pepper spray, a whistle and a torch, but he’d had them ever since.

An hour after he’s finished packing, he looks around his apartment and feels slightly forlorn. He knows it isn’t forever, probably only a week at most, but he’ll miss his own bed and shower and sofa crease. There are little things he’s come to appreciate in the space he calls home.

Phil refuses to let Dan carry all three of his bags by himself, insisting that he carries at least one. Although it pains him to do so, Dan gives him the lightest bag.

“The second you feel any pain, give it back to me, okay?” he says.

Phil just wrinkles his nose. “You’re cute when you’re demanding.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Dan finds himself settling in to Phil’s apartment.

It’s all kinds of weird and wonderful, streaked with blues and greens and splashes of yellow, and filled to the brim with what can only be described as miscellaneous crap. Phil slaps his arm when he voices that thought out loud. There’s a small kitchen area with a breakfast bar, a living room where Elle’s currently sleeping, a study and Phil’s bedroom, all complete with a small balcony that overlooks the Manchester skyline. The more time he stays here, the more he feels at home.

It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with the people he’s living with.

Elle’s reaction to Dan temporarily moving in was interesting to say the least. She hadn’t seen Dan for a small while, time during which he confessed to sleeping with Phil on the group chat. Naturally, instead of asking any important or meaningful questions, she immediately dragged him inside, shoved him down on the sofa and demanded details.

(“Details?” he’d said.

“Two of my closest friends are fucking,” she’d chastised him. “The least I’m entitled to know is whether it was enjoyable or not.”)

After the excitement of Dan and Phil’s wild nighttime escapades had worn off, they’d set to work unpacking Dan’s bags and making sure Phil’s apartment was as secure as possible. There was now a small camera attached to the doorframe to film any suspicious activity (another one of Luke’s police gadgets), the peephole had been cleaned of any dust and they’d moved a side table to beside the door and decked it out with any necessary means of protection.

None of them questioned the need to do this. From Dan’s perspective, it was simple: Alex was still angry at Elle leaving and was probably willing to tear half of Manchester apart to try and find her. The thought of it made Dan’s stomach twist. He didn’t want to find her because he was worried. He wanted to find her because he wanted to slip back into their old routine, one that left Elle emotionally and physically scarred.

Dan and Phil don’t have the power to completely stop Alex, however much they try. All they can do for now is sit and wait and pray that everything goes as smoothly as possible.

 

* * *

 

It’s 5:43pm when Dan gets the text.

He’s at work uncharacteristically late to see a client who got held up earlier. He sees through her white lie as easily as he sees through windows, but he doesn’t confront her about it. They’ve barely begun talking and she’s already twitching anxiously in her seat.

When he’s about to ask a question, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He mentally berates himself for being so careless before uttering a stream of apologies to his client. She nods in understanding; Dan’s not often a busy man, but when he is, life is hectic.

_Phil: Dan I just got a text from Alex_

He swears he feels his heart skip a beat.

_Dan: what does it say_

_Phil: He has my address_

_Phil: He says he’s coming over_

_Phil: What do I do_

Dan wants to punch a wall, or run back to Phil’s apartment, but he can’t. It’s bad enough leaving mid-session with a client because he got a text. Point-blank ending the session is too unprofessional for even Dan to justify.

With his head spinning a million miles a minute, he calls the only person he thinks to.

“Dan?” comes the voice.

“Luke,” he breathes out, relieved. “We have a problem.”

“Alex related?”

“Yeah. He has Phil’s address and says he’s ‘coming over’? Whatever that means.”

“But Elle’s staying with Phil,” Luke replies. “Does he know that? Is that why he’s going there? To get to her?”

“Fuck,” Dan curses, a shade too loud considering he’s at work. “Of course.”

“Tell me Phil’s address and I can get there before Alex does. Take them to safety.”

“Where would you take them? And Phil has a bad shoulder. He might not be able to move too quickly. And what if Alex gets there first? What if something happens to-”

“Dan,” Luke cuts him off. “You need to stay calm. Tell me Phil’s address.”

Dan reels off Phil’s address and gives a vague description of the corridor outside from what he can remember in his mind’s eye. His heart is now stoically thumping in his chest, relentless and hectic. There’s no point trying to slow it down or try to control his breathing. This adrenaline, this pure fear that’s spiked his veins is the only thing keeping him going right now.

“Okay. I’m on my way there now. Tell Phil and Elle that I’m coming and they need to be ready.”

“Where will you take them?” he asks, the words shaky.

“Wherever Alex won’t find them,” Luke responds, his tone suddenly a lot more serious and policemanlike. “If Alex can track Elle down via her phone, we should leave it somewhere public. A park, maybe? That way we’ll be able to get him. As for Phil...”

“He could go to my apartment,” Dan offers. “You know how to pick locks, right?”

Luke snorts. “Is that even a question?”

“Just checking,” he mumbles. “So, you go to Phil’s apartment, get them, leave Elle’s phone in a park and take Phil to mine. Then what?”

“I can call backup to take Elle somewhere safe.”

“Okay.”

“There’s one other problem, though,” Luke adds.

“Which is...?”

“Someone needs to be at Phil’s to meet Alex if he ends up going there. He doesn’t seem to like Phil either by the sounds of it. There might be bones to pick.”

“Who’ll do that?” Dan asks. He has a feeling he already knows the answer.

“I think it should be you,” comes Luke’s response.

“Right. Yes. Of course. I uh, need to, uh, call Phil and fill him in on what’s happening. He’ll probably put me on speaker, so.”

“Good. Keep in contact. This might not be easy as we’ve made it seem.”

“It never is,” Dan mutters darkly, saying goodbye before hanging up and calling Phil straight away. He picks up after before it has time to even ring once.

“What’s happening?” Phil asks.

“I’ve called Luke and he’s getting help,” Dan starts. “He’ll take care of you and Elle. I’m going to yours to be there in case Alex comes.”

“Are you sure about that? When you said you’d protect me, I didn’t think you’d take it this far.”

“Did you really say that?” another, softer voice chips in. “You two are disgusting.”

“Hey, Elle,” Dan says. “Are you okay?”

“As fine as I can be,” she replies, but her voice is thick with uncertainty. “Do I know Luke?”

“He’s a friend of mine. He’s a policeman. He has light hair. You’ll love him.”

“I always did love dirty blondes,” Elle jokes humourlessly. “So what do we do, just wait here for Luke to come?”

“Basically,” Dan says, shrugging. “I’ll send him your numbers and vice versa. It’ll be too much trying to be the middleman for everyone.”

“Yeah, cool,” Phil says. “We’ll talk soon. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

As soon as he hangs up, Dan grimaces. He has no idea how to tackle telling a client that his sort-of-boyfriend and friend are currently being targeted by her abuser, especially in a way that’s concise and sensitive enough. He sighs, pockets his phone and bursts back into the room.

His client looks up, her gaze curious.

“Listen,” he starts. “I’m so sorry, but a situation’s come up. One of my other clients is there, and there are police, and...” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s been sweating so much already that it’s slightly matted.

“Basically, what I’m trying to say is – we’ll have to end the session there. Please don’t pay me for this one. We can discuss other sessions and how to make up for this soon, I promise. I’ll be in contact. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” his client replies, her eyes understanding and slightly too intense for his liking. “If there are police, I don’t want to...”

“It’s my fault,” Dan says. “I should really be more professional, but I have to go.”

Without saying another word, Dan grabs his things, shoves them into his rucksack, zips it up and dashes out of his building. Phil’s apartment isn’t desperately far away when he walks to it, let alone sprints like a professional athlete on every steroid under the sun. He’s made it there in just under 10 minutes, his lungs burning and acid stinging in his muscles.

Once he’s inside the apartment building and stumbling out of the lift on Phil’s floor, he runs down the corridor and sees Phil’s door ajar. Against every instinct that’s screaming at him not to, he pushes the door open further and-

He sees Luke sitting on a chair. His body slumps in relief at the sight of him, the noise coming from his mouth enough to alert Luke of his presence.

“Dan!” he says, jumping up and rushing over to hug him quickly. “You made it.”

“I did,” Dan wheezes in reply. “Is everything okay?”

“As well as it can be,” Luke comments. “My colleague has Phil and Elle in the back of the car. The windows are tinted. They should be safe there for now. As for this apartment, we tried to shimmy things around a bit.”

Even though their time’s running out, Dan can’t help but ask, “why?”

“You’ll have to pretend that Phil moved out of here,” Luke tells him. “You live here now. We moved some things around to make it look different. If you have time you can change it up some more.”

“O-okay.” He curses himself internally for shaking so much. “What do I do when he gets here?”

“Be friendly. Say you know where Phil lives now, or something. You can take him past the park. I don’t know. You used to do drama stuff, right?”

Dan nods, his cheeks warming slightly.

“Use some of that. You’ll need it.”

Luke pulls him in for another quick hug and pats his back reassuringly. “It’ll all be okay. I promise.”

“I hope so,” Dan replies, frowning. “You should go.”

“I should. See you soon.”

Dan watches Luke leave and shut the door behind him. It’s only then that he fully takes stock of his surroundings. The usual colour, the vividness, the _life_ that’s in here has been stripped back to bare walls and simpler furnishings. After peeking into a few kitchen cupboards, he sees they’ve stuffed most of Phil’s things in there. The rest is presumably hiding in his bedroom, out of the line of sight from the front door.

For what feels like hours, Dan waits. He waits and potters around Phil’s apartment, too scared to check his phone in case the doorbell rings. Occasionally, he switches the cushions around on the sofa, or changes the layout of some books on Phil’s bookshelf. It doesn’t work well enough to distract him.

He’s scared – hell, he’s really scared. All of this came out of nowhere, so quickly that he still doesn’t quite know how to go about processing it. One minute he was discussing child custody with a client, the next he was in the lift up to Phil’s apartment, his ears ringing and the taste of blood faintly on his tongue.

To be fair, he’d never been the fittest. Even as a child, he would-

That train of thought is promptly cut off when he hears the doorbell ring. He freezes, jumping up and trying to calmly walk over. His legs feel like jelly, they’re wobbling so much.

Looking through the peephole, he sees Alex for the first time since he saw him in hospital with Phil. He looks better now than he did then, from what he can tell, but something about his appearance is so cold and off-putting that it sends a shiver down his spine.

His hair is floppy and tangled, roughly tucked behind his ears. There’s the beginnings of stubble grazing his chin, the shadows of it echoing those under his eyes. Everything about him seems shut off from reality, like he somehow stumbled into daylight from a secret government programme. For all Dan knows, he could be an alien.

Even that’s infinitely better than having the knowledge of what he did to Elle whirling around his head.

 _This is war_ , he says to himself. Taking a deep breath in, he twists the handle and opens the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @awrfhi on tumblr - please let me know if you like this or not <3

He can’t bring himself to look up.

Dan pauses momentarily and tries to pull himself together. Every fibre of his being is on edge, like the simplest of things had triggered some kind of chain reaction within him. His fingertips feel like they have a current running through them – if he dares to touch anything, sparks will shoot out.

Despite all of that, despite the maelstrom of anger and hate and increasing panic that’s swirling in his gut, he knows he absolutely can’t act on any of it. Every second spent with a coolly impassive expression is a second Luke has to get the others to safety, or a second they all have to get things ready for when the time is right.

Compared to the others, Dan’s job (for lack of better words) is relatively simple at face value. All he has to do is see what Alex wants and guide him straight into Luke’s hands. Talking to strangers is something Dan does for a living, and he wouldn’t have progressed as far as he had without being somewhat good at it. In a way, it’ll just be like another day at the office.

Of course, with the way his mind works, nothing is ever accepted at face value. Talking to people in a professional context is one of his strong suits, but Dan hides himself under a carefully constructed façade of a decent reputation and overly strong cologne. He doesn’t have those luxuries right now.

Slowly, torturously, he drags his eyes away from the floor, then to the doorframe and finally to the man standing on the other side.

A pair of eyes blinks back at him.

He tries to analyse Alex’s appearance as subtly as he can. Everything about him looks sunken and deflated; his cheekbones stick out too much and his face is covered with shadowy signs of sleep deprivation. His outfit is some badly matching sweatpants and a hoodie, the hood barely covering his head.

If Dan didn’t know him, he’d maybe go as far as to say that Alex isn’t unattractive. He has a certain rugged handsomeness that’s hard to place, but still there. On a better day, he can imagine himself getting swept up in his faintly olive skin, in the hints of stubble on his jaw, in his eyes that are a mellow shade of brown.

Without making any conscious effort, his mind shifts from the brown eyes in front of him to another pair of eyes. They’re colder in colour, but undeniably _warmer_ , speckled with chartreuse and framed with sparse lashes. They look at him, gaze into him in a way that Dan didn’t realise he needed.

Then his mind moves again, to eyes with thicker lashes that twinkle in a calm and friendly way. These eyes have crinkles by them that are emphasised when he cracks a joke, or says hello in the morning. These same eyes become hollow pools of raw emotion when Dan makes a throwaway self-deprecating comment or tries to open up about how he’s feeling.

The pairs of eyes in his head seem to stare out at him, and suddenly his reason for being here, for doing any of this, is as clear as day.

He’s nervous as hell, and would much rather be anywhere else, but he knows he has to push through this conversation for one reason: for them.

Why else would he do any of this? Why else would he leap at every opportunity to help right the wrongs, to bring back happiness, if it was only for personal gain? Phil and Elle are the two closest people he has right now. Anything he can do is worth it, is worth suffering through a conversation with a stranger for.

Dan clears his throat.

“Hi,” he says finally.

Alex’s expression almost drops off his face. Dan’s brain is so fried that he’s almost tempted to burst into laughter just to see how he would react.

“Hi,” he replies. “You’re not who I was expecting.”

Dan forces his brows to crease together in confusion. Having this conversation might be more exciting than he originally thought.

“You were expecting someone?” he asks, making his voice higher than usual.

Luke was right. Dan’s currently employing every old acting trick his brain can remember. In his head, he sloppily constructs a fake identity and tries to live in that person’s body for as long as he needs to. It’s oddly therapeutic being able to step away from himself and see the world from a different point of view.

“Yeah,” Alex says. “A friend.”

Dan shoves a hand in his pocket and looks blankly at him.

“He isn’t here, so...” Alex trails off and makes a movement to leave.

Panicking, Dan blurts, “hold on! I might be able to help you.”

Alex stops in his tracks and turns back around. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” he justifies himself. “I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I know the guy who lived here before me.”

“Go on.”

“He’s... a similar height to me,” Dan begins. “Pale. Scrawny. Dark hair. Ring any bells?”

“That sounds like him,” Alex replies. “He’s called Phil.”

“Phil!” he says cheerily. “Of course. I knew his name began with a P.”

Alex frowns before his features smooth out again. “So you know Phil?”

“I do.” Dan attempts a smile, but it falls short. His lips twist upwards in somewhere between a grimace and what could be construed as his face twitching.

There’s a lapse in the conversation. Taking the hint, Dan decides to continue what he was saying.

“He’s the guy who sold this apartment to me.”

“Do you know where he is now? Did he say anything about where he was moving to?”

Something in Alex’s tone takes Dan aback. He’s not bad at reading body language or gauging what someone’s feeling, and if he’s not mistaken, Alex sounds guilty. Not even a fraction guilty either – his questions are all earnest, as if he’s trying to fix everything he smashed to pieces. As if he knows he won’t be able to change what he did, but he’s willing to try to make amends with time and patience.

Dan’s thoughts spiral instantly.

_He’s guilty_ , his mind hisses at him. _He knew what he was doing to them the entire time. He ruined Elle’s life_.

Another part of him, the more forgiving side, wants to give Alex the chance to explain himself. Deep down, he believes that everyone is good. People can easily become lost and twisted as a result of the simplest of things. Sometimes, all it takes is a pair of ears and eyes to put everything into perspective.

He wants to be that for Alex. He wants to hear Alex rip out the darkest parts of himself and lay them bare. He wants to know for sure that if he’s sending this man to jail, it’s with a guilty conscience and a desire to be a better person after it all.

In his head, he changes his original plan. It’s not going to be as simple as moving Alex from Point A to Point B.

“I don’t know where he is now, but I could contact him?” he offers. “I have his number.”

Alex seems to relax more. “That would be great. I don’t think he’d want to answer me, so.”

Dan nods in understanding and pulls out his phone. Going to his messages, he quickly types out a text and sends it to Phil.

_Dan: hi phil. it’s dan. i’m with a guy called alex and he says he’s looking for you?_

 

* * *

 

“I feel like we should be in handcuffs right now,” Elle says quietly.

“Shut up,” Phil replies. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying!” she laughs, the sound of it filling the backseat where they’re currently sat. “I wouldn’t mind Luke handcuffing me.”

“Again, not helping,” he snaps, but he can’t help a small giggle escape his mouth. It’s a nervous giggle, the kind where his mind is whirring and he can’t help if his teeth knock into each other.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Phil’s glad he’s sat in the backseat of a police car with Elle. Other than the comic relief, it’s nice to be with someone he trusts, someone who knows the seriousness of the situation. He can only hope that Elle feels the same way.

When Luke had told them about Dan’s part in all of this, he’d wanted to throw up. The idea of even seeing Alex again after everything they’d been through was bad enough, let alone having to convince him to go anywhere together.

(“He agreed to do it,” Luke had said. “It’s the best option we have. He’s good at acting and I’m good at keeping people safe.”

“Is he sure?” Phil had replied. “It wasn’t just a heat of the moment thing?”

“He’s sure.”)

There’s a sudden, heavy silence between them. The absence of sound makes Phil’s thoughts all the more deafening; how will he know if Dan’s safe? What if something were to happen to him? What if-?

“Are you ready?” Elle says abruptly.

“For what?” he says, frowning.

“Luke’s coming back to the car,” she explains.

Looking into the wing mirror, Phil can see a figure approaching his side of the car. Glancing over at Elle, he smiles gently to try to reassure her. Oddly enough, he seems to be the most stressed out of any of them.

“Phil.”

He looks at her with his insides fluttering uncontrollably.

“We’ll be fine. I’ve made my peace with it. You need to as well.”

Phil just swallows and tries to nod before the door to the left of him is being opened.

“Hi,” Luke says, peering down. “My friend has just reported seeing Alex go into the apartment block. Now’s our best chance to move.”

Phil nods again, the words not really sinking in. In a matter of what feels like seconds, Elle’s made her way around the car and is looking down at Phil, concern softly etched on her face. He meets her gaze and lets himself melt into the steady gold-brown of her eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” she repeats, extending her hand. He takes it and grips onto it as he steps out of the car. It’s the most grounded he’s felt in a small while, and when he lets go, he visibly brightens to let her know that he’s feeling better about things.

Luke had parked the police car a safe distance away from both Phil’s apartment and their allocated rendezvous point. The two follow his lead, Elle walking ahead and making small talk while Phil wallows in his thoughts.

In all honesty, he just wants this to be over. He’s tired of lying to everyone around him, tired of having to conceal various aspects of himself from various people just to keep up the pretence that he’s okay. He’s tired of having to be secretive with Dan, even though the rational side of his mind knows that them even entertaining the idea of being together is probably illegal.

Dan. His heart twinges just thinking about him. He wishes he could go back in time and force Luke to take him out of the situation. He’s a bystander in all of this, someone Phil originally paid to help him. He doesn’t deserve anything that’s come his way.

“He doesn’t deserve me,” he mumbles to himself, out of earshot.

When his phone pings with a new message and he reads it, it only solidifies what he’s thinking.

_Dan: hi phil. it’s dan. i’m with a guy called alex and he says he’s looking for you?_

It sounds nothing like he normally would. Phil wants to hug him as hard as he can for how dedicated he is to this, how willing he is to stare danger in the face for the sake of his friends.

Friends. The word lingers on his tongue. He doesn’t know if he likes the taste of it.

_Phil: Oh hi! Can I ask why? We haven’t spoken in a while._

A few moments later, Dan’s reply comes through.

_Dan: he says it’s complicated but he just wants to talk. we’re in your old place if you’re nearby?_

Phil lets a small noise of excited fear tumble from his lips. It’s enough to make both Luke and Elle turn around in confusion. Catching up with them, he waves his phone in the air.

“Dan says he can get Alex to come and meet me.”

Luke frowns. “Just you?”

“The texts only mention me,” he replies. “Do the details matter that much? This is our opportunity to get him where we want him.”

“I guess,” Luke says, running a hand through his hair, Elle’s eyes trained on him. Phil almost gasps again. She has a type, and Luke only ticks one of her boxes. Why him of all people?

“Okay,” Luke says, more decisive this time. “Text Dan back and say yes. If he can bring Alex down to the park then we’ll be fine. You can wait there and my colleagues will be nearby in a police car. I can take Elle somewhere else.”

Elle seems unsure. “Where would you take me?”

“It depends,” Luke responds. “Do you want to see Alex?”

“I’ll talk to him when he’s behind bars,” she mutters. “What are the options?”

“The station sounds like our best option,” Luke says. “We can keep you safe and you’ll be able to talk to Alex there if you want.”

“Alright.”

When Luke’s turned his back, she grins at Phil. Rolling his eyes, he texts Dan a final time.

_Phil: I’m actually in the park a couple of roads away. Decided to come out for an evening stroll. You can walk him here if he doesn’t know the way?_

_Dan: great. see you soon!_

 

* * *

 

“I just texted him,” Dan says. “Can... can I offer you a drink or anything?”

“I’m fine,” Alex brushes him off. “Could I sit down? I walked a while to get here.”

“Of course.”

Dan pushes the door further open and closes it after Alex has walked through. As Alex perches on Phil’s armchair, Dan makes himself comfortable on the sofa opposite by pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on them.

“Do you want to talk about any of it?” Dan asks, almost hesitant.

Alex quirks a brow.

“I only offered because it’s what I do for a living,” he explains. “I talk to people. Help them to figure things out.”

“We’ve only just met.”

“There’s always a first session,” Dan counters, choosing his words carefully. “It just might help to take the weight off your shoulders.”

When it looks like Alex might be about to open up, Dan’s phone flashes with another notification. He sighs and offers Alex an apologetic smile before checking his phone.

_Phil: Oh hi! Can I ask why? We haven’t spoken in a while._

“He wants to know why,” Dan reads aloud. “You haven’t spoken in a while.”

Alex stares steadfastly down at his fingers. “I was a bad person. I did bad things. I just wanted to talk things over. It wouldn’t make it better, but it’s a start.”

“Bad things?” he pushes further, keeping his tone calm.

“It’s complicated,” Alex says. “He knows that.”

“Is that what you want me to tell him?”

Alex nods and Dan types out a message for Phil.

_Dan: he says it’s complicated but he just wants to talk. we’re in your old place if you’re nearby?_

“I invited him over,” he adds. “Or, at least he knows where we are right now.”

“What if he isn’t around?” Alex asks, suddenly sounding choked up. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time,” Dan assures him. “I was going to head to a bar not too far from here. We could talk over a drink and see if he shows up somewhere?”

“Okay,” he says. “A drink sounds good.”

As they’re standing up and making their way towards the door, Dan gets another text.

_Phil: I’m actually in the park a couple of roads away. Decided to come out for an evening stroll. You can walk him here if he doesn’t know the way?_

“He’s in a park near here,” Dan tells him, though it comes out sounding more like a question.

Alex has a pained expression. “But the drinks.”

“He could come and get a drink with us,” he suggests. “It’ll be like therapy but less stingy and with alcohol.”

Alex laughs and shakes his head slightly. It’s unusual to see, especially considering that the first time Dan saw him he was sleeping in a hospital bed. The almost abnormality of it feels appropriate when Dan remembers everything he’s done.

He shouldn’t feel the need to smile, he thinks to himself. How can anyone even attempt smiling with the knowledge of what they’ve done constantly there?

His mind wanders to how widely he grins whenever Phil’s around and he promptly shuts off that train of thought. Maybe there can be some exceptions.

Dan quickly replies to Phil before leaving with Alex in tow.

_Dan: great. see you soon!_

When his phone lets him know that Phil’s read the message, he shoves it into his pocket and walks to the elevator in the building. To try to fill the empty air, he decides to make small talk with Alex.

“So, you don’t know this area much?”

“Not as much as I used to,” he replies. “I didn’t even realise there was a park.”

“Same,” Dan says. “I guess that’s what I get for never going outside.”

“Tell me about it. I just got out of hospital recently. I forgot grass was a thing.”

Dan wants to laugh, but his anxiety has suddenly spiked. An opportunity to get information out of Alex has just arisen, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to find out what he can.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be. These things happen.”

They stand in front of the elevator and wait for it to reach their floor. Dan inhales and exhales thickly, his mind toying with how to approach asking risky questions. If he’s too blunt or says too much, he risks annoying Alex or scaring him off. If he doesn’t ask enough, he’ll feel like he’s letting down everyone counting on him.

“It must have been a pretty nasty accident,” Dan says, colouring his voice with sympathy. “You know, if it was enough to make you forget about grass. That’s wild.”

“I was in there for just over 3 weeks,” Alex replies. “Minor haemorrhage. It... wasn’t quite an accident.”

“Someone did this to you?”

“I started it,” he says, shrugging. “They were just defending themself.”

“But they still hurt you.”

“Trust me,” Alex stops him, his voice hardening, “it’s fine. I have a lawyer.”

_Or maybe you don’t anymore_ , Dan thinks to himself darkly.

Once they’re out of the lift and leaving the building, Dan leads the way to the park. His heart has suddenly started thumping out of his chest, to the point where he can feel his pulse roaring in his ears.

Every step he takes leads Alex further to his impending arrest. Every step he takes somehow feels more important than the last. As much as he’s internally panicking right now, he needs to see this through.

At the end of the road, Dan looks both ways and spots a sliver of green to his right.

“It’s down there,” he says out loud. “It shouldn’t be too busy now. A lot of old people tend to sit there and read newspapers and stuff.”

“Okay.”

The dread that Dan feels spikes instantly when he sees a figure sitting on a bench in the park. He knows it’s Phil, partly because he knows his silhouette so well and partly because the park’s completely deserted apart from him.

When he reaches the gate, he opens it and cringes as it squeaks. The sound is obnoxious and loud enough to alert Phil that they’ve arrived. Dan feels like throwing up.

The distance between the gate and Phil feels like a miniature marathon. Dan keeps his eyes locked on Phil and tries to communicate everything he’s feeling. It’s no use, of course it isn’t, but he feels better for having made the attempt.

Their steps get slower as Phil draws nearer. His hands sit rigidly in his lap and his shoulders look like they’re glued to the back of the bench. Dan’s never seen him look so scared, so uncertain before.

Alex pauses.

“Hi, Phil,” he begins, his voice low.

“Alex,” Phil responds.

“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” Dan asks, backing away.

“If we can still get drinks later, then sure,” Alex replies. The lighthearted comment falls flat.

He simply nods and makes his way over to a bench a suitable distance away. Handing Alex over to Phil seems like more and more of a bad decision the more he thinks about it. To distract himself and give the two of them privacy, he pulls his phone out and checks if Luke has texted.

_Dan: phil’s with alex and i’m on watch out_

_Dan: is elle safe_

_Luke: Elle’s safe. There should be a police car parked nearby._

Dan glances up and looks around. He doesn’t see the car immediately, but when he does, his nerves are soothed infinitesimally.

That only lasts for seconds, because when Dan looks over to his right, he sees Alex with his hands around Phil’s neck.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @awrfhi on tumblr - come tell me what you think !! <3
> 
> (my exams finish on wednesday so i'll have a lot more time on my hands to write this. i think there'll only be about 2-3 more chapters so) :')

The words that start from Dan’s throat don’t sound like his own.

“Get off him!” he yells, practically throwing himself out of his seat and running towards them.

When his feet hit the ground, the sensation doesn’t travel up his legs like it normally does. It’s a strangely alien feeling, running when none of his limbs feel attached to his body and his mind could explode from the sheer panic filling every corner of it.

He should have known. Of course he should have known that Alex would try something like this. After everything the two of them have been through, he should have known that Alex would try to get some kind of revenge without caring about the consequences.

With the chaos buzzing in his mind, he forgets how quickly he’s running. One moment he’s on a bench metres away, and the next he’s wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist and dragging him down with him.

They fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs and Dan rolls over to try to pin Alex down. Alex squirms and tries to force his way out, but Dan tightens his hands on his arms and slams them back down.

“What the fuck was that for?” he yells in Alex’s face.

“None of your business,” Alex fires back.

“My business or not, you don’t just go around strangling people when you feel like it,” he hisses. “You can’t just beat people into submission.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough to know that this isn’t your first time. God knows how many times you’ve done it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dan laughs and presses his nails into Alex’s shoulders. “You did it with Elle, didn’t you? Punched her until she cried and promised that she’d never leave your side ever again. Even when you were lying on the ground with your insides bleeding, she still came to help you and get you to a hospital. Any time anyone tries to get it into your thick skull that you’re an abusive piece of shit, you never listen.”

Alex’s eyes darken.

“Allegedly.”

“For someone so horrible, you can be incredibly naïve,” he says, his voice softening. “Let me guess, you’re going to take Phil to court for ‘trying to kill you’? He was defending himself. You’ll never get anywhere with that. In fact...”

He trails off and leans down, close enough to see every inch of realisation dawn on Alex’s face. Some dark, primitive side of him is enjoying this moment too much, relishing it even, but it’s the most excitement he’s had ever since becoming a lawyer in the first place.

“Phil did try to kill me,” Alex spits out, interrupting him. “He pushed me. You don’t know him like I do.”

“No,” Dan agrees. “I know him in more ways than you can ever comprehend. Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to say that your lawyer dropped your case quicker than you can click your fingers. Michael Prescott, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you.”

“How charming,” Dan mutters. “You know what he’s working on instead? Filing a restraining order against you for his new client Eleanor Beaufort.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I wanted to show him who you really are. Nobody wants to represent an abuser, do they?”

“I’m not an abuser! You have no evidence!” Alex growls. “Besides, how do you even know any of this is true? Who told you?”

“Phil, silly.” Dan rolls his eyes. “I used to be his lawyer. He tells me things he’ll never tell you. And believe me, there’s more evidence than you think.”

Alex looks to his right and Dan follows his gaze. Luke’s colleagues are approaching them quickly, looking burlier than Dan could ever dream of being. His lips curl up into a sadistic smile.

“Oh, and one last thing. You want to know how well I know Phil?”

Alex doesn’t reply.

“I sucked his dick.”

Alex frowns. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Because no one will ever believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

Seconds later, he’s being pulled off Alex and taken aside. The sudden lack of contact and depletion of adrenaline caused him to stumble backwards slightly.

In front of him, two policemen pull Alex up and handcuff him. Alex lets out a tirade of accusations and foul language that Dan’s scrambled brain can barely process. All he can focus on is everything he said in the heat of the moment, words that could be used against him unwittingly.

He watches as Alex is dragged to the police car, still breathing deeply. His phone keeps buzzing in his pocket, but he feels like if he moves an inch, everything will come crashing down.

Maybe it already has.

A hands rests on his shoulder and he feels a head press against his hair. He suddenly stops shaking, even though he wasn’t aware that he was shaking before.

“You’re okay now,” Phil’s voice whispers in his ear. His voice sounds a little hoarse and Dan’s heart crumbles into a million pieces, each powdery fragment getting blown away with the wind.

He slowly turns around and grips onto Phil tighter then he’s ever held onto anything in his life. Phil holds him, his arms a steady presence in his world that’s just been rocked beyond belief. Dan buries his face against Phil’s neck and inhales his scent, feels Phil’s pulse throb by his cheek.

Before he can stop himself, tears spill from his eyes and dampen Phil’s clothes. Phil holds him even tighter as he shakes and trembles, his sobs muffled and thick.

“You’re okay now,” Phil repeats, dropping a kiss in his hair. “You’re okay. Everything’s alright.”

Dan pulls back and laughs at how pathetic he’s being. Phil uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks and lets his hand cup Dan’s face. Dan’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into Phil’s touch.

“I’m so fucking selfish,” he murmurs. “You were the one getting strangled and I’m crying about it.”

“You’re not selfish,” Phil reassures him. “You saved my life. That’s a pretty selfless thing to do.”

Dan’s eyes snap open at that.

“I couldn’t just leave you there!” he splutters. “The one thing that genuinely makes me happy? I’ll be damned if I lose it without a fight.”

Phil smiles. “I make you happy?”

Dan nods. “So, so incredibly happy. Are you kidding me? I... I love you.”

Phil’s eyes widen. Dan stares up into them, knowing deep down that he’s never said anything truer in his life. It’s only been a couple of months, but in that time, Phil has stumbled into Dan’s life and changed everything with it. He’s the most unexpected, beautiful catastrophe, and Dan wouldn’t change it for the world.

And then he’s leaning down and meeting Dan’s lips with a kind of raw hunger he’s never seen before. Neither of them could care less that they’re in a public park, and that anyone could see them. All he cares about is the pressure on his mouth, and Phil’s tongue skimming his bottom lip, and how undeniably, incredibly in love he is.

The sensation flows up from his feet and pools in his head. It’s light and sweet and smoky, like incense, clouding every corner of his mind and blurring the edges of what his consciousness can comprehend. At the same time, it’s hot and wet and heavy and all kinds of perfect, achingly addictive and glorious to feel for the first time.

When they part, Phil rests his forehead on Dan’s and lets their lips touch.

“I love you too,” he whispers into Dan’s mouth. “So, so much.”

The sound of those words coming from Phil makes Dan melt further into him, bringing their lips back together once more. Dan moves his arms from around Phil’s waist and lets his hands trace the contours of Phil’s face, back past his ears before settling in his hair.

 _Phil loves you too. You both love each other_ rings out in his head like a choir. They’re words he never thought he’d have a pleasure of knowing, words he wants Phil to breathe into his mouth forever. They’re words that are entirely too good to be true, words he’s afraid Phil might take back.

When they finally pull apart, both of them are gasping for breath. The intensity of their confessions makes Dan almost want to cry again, but the reality of what’s going on around them sets in and he gives a bone-weary sigh.

“We need to tell Luke,” he says, dropping his hands and stepping back. “You know, what happened with Alex.”

“His colleagues probably beat you to it, but sure,” Phil agrees. “Elle might be worried.”

Luke picks up after only a few rings.

“Hi, Dan,” he says. “You took your time. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan replies, rubbing his temple. “Just emotionally harrowing, that’s all.”

“You did well,” Luke grins. “My colleagues filled me in. You kept Alex pinned down long enough for them to set everything in place. There could’ve been a whole police chase if he’d escaped.”

“Well, thanks,” Dan says, blinking at the unexpectedness of it all. “I guess it was kind of a fight or flight thing.”

“Whatever you say,” he teases. “While all that was going on, I took Elle back to the station. I think it’s best if she doesn’t stay with either of you until we know for sure what’ll happen to Alex.”

“He tried to kill Phil,” he frowns. “Doesn’t that mean jail time?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Luke replies. “But he’s still entitled to a trial.”

“Without a lawyer?”

“How would you know if he doesn’t have a lawyer?”

Dan glances over at Phil and tries to hold in his laughter. “There might have been an... altercation.”

“What did you do?”

“I told Alex’s lawyer the truth. He agreed to drop the case in favour of getting a restraining order against him for Elle.”

“Shit.” Luke chuckles for a while before clearing his throat, apparently coming to his senses. “Not the best thing to do, but it sounds like he deserves it.”

“He does,” Phil mumbles. Dan repeats what Phil just said to Luke and Luke’s response is to start laughing again.

“I really shouldn’t be laughing about this,” he says, “but you’re not wrong. Anyone who abuses somebody is automatically trash.”

“Exactly. Elle deserves this trial to go well so she can start recovering from all of this.”

“Yeah. It should be passed through the court quickly. Multiple allegations and all.”

“I thought it was just the restraining order part,” Dan replies, confused. “What else has he been accused of?”

“Resisting arrest,” Luke says. “The number of times he tried to run away was laughable.”

“Fair enough. How’s Elle?”

“Just peachy,” Elle’s voice replies. “This station is pretty cool.”

“Oh, so I’m on speaker now?”

“You were on speaker the whole time,” Elle says. “You’re sweet when you want to be. How are you holding up?”

“We’re alright. Phil and I, I mean. I don’t know about him, but I just want to sleep now.”

“If you two need to rest, I can take care of Elle,” Luke interjects.

“I’m perfectly fine taking care of myself,” Elle huffs.

“Just trust him,” Dan says. “You can stay with him for a few days until this all settles down.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “But you need to keep in contact. And maybe clear out Phil’s apartment.”

“We will,” he replies, putting his phone on speaker. “And we’ll get around to doing that.”

“It’s a mess though,” Phil says. “Maybe just the essentials.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Luke agrees. “You can stay at Dan’s apartment. That’s somewhere Alex doesn’t know about.”

“Okay,” Dan says. “I think we’ll go and do that now.”

“Alright,” Luke replies. “Stay safe. Call if you need anything.”

“Same here,” Phil adds. “And take care of Elle. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Dan can hear the faint noise of Elle’s complaints before they’re cut off with the touch of a screen. The silence filters between the two of them. Looking around, the park and surrounding area has now simmered down, to the point where any sounds are just quiet murmurs. It’s like the world is watching the two of them with bated breath, slowing a down a moment in time for just them to hold onto.

“Shall we?” Phil says, extending his good hand.

Dan reaches out to take it. “We shall.”

 

* * *

 

Phil’s apartment doesn’t feel the same as it used to. Before, there were brightly coloured paintings hanging on walls, and each room felt injected with life and ebullience to the point of saturation. Now, as he stands in the doorway, it feels lifeless, like somebody had taken a massive syringe and sucked the warmth out of it.

Dan thinks to himself about how funny it is that one person can have such a profound impact on his life. When he visualises Alex’s rugged face, he sees a man who could just as easily have not done anything he had. But the damage is already done, already irreversible.

When he thinks about the polar opposite of Alex, he looks across at Phil. He’s currently pacing around his apartment with a confused kind of sadness hanging around him, trailing his fingers along pieces of furniture that technically belong to him, but feel like they don’t.

Phil is everything Alex could never be. Phil has a heart of gold that’s palpable in the twinkle of his eyes, the corner of his smile, the sound of his laughter. Phil would never hurt a fly or do any intentional harm. Phil tries to see the best in people and hold onto that version of them until they prove him wrong.

He’d done that with Alex – Dan can tell that much from all the conversations they’ve had. Despite all the terrible things Alex did to Elle, Phil was still willing to believe there was a good person buried beneath the layers of crudeness and violence. When he’d found out there wasn’t, instead of immediately giving up hope, he went to talk to Alex about it. The way Alex reacted speaks volumes about his personality.

So, yes, people can have a profound impact on his life, negative or positive. It’s hard to focus on the negativity when Phil oozes such radiant positivity with every breath.

“Essentials,” he says at last. “We could pack a suitcase? It depends on what you want to bring with you.”

“Just the essentials,” Phil replies vacantly. “Some clothes and toiletries and other things I need. Oh, and whatever you brought here, too.”

Dan just nods and gets to work.

The next hour or so is filled with packing a suitcase with what they call ‘essentials’. At the start of the packing process, Phil’s fixed on what can go in and what can’t; at the end, Dan’s somehow convinced him to bring the entire Studio Ghibli boxset. Phil gives him a withering look but obliges, stuffing it into the case and padding it with clothes.

Ever so often, Phil will find an object and look at it. Dan will see the hesitation on his face and ask about the object. Phil will retell a story of how he got the object in the first place, or bring back a memory he has associated with it. It’s such a small gesture, but any moment digging deeper into how Phil’s mind works is a moment well spent in Dan’s eyes.

“I forgot I had this,” Phil murmurs, pulling out a box from underneath his bed.

“What is it?”

“A cordless hammer drill,” he replies, rolling his eyes at how Dan can barely contain his laughter. “My parents wanted me to be more of a DIY man, I guess. Never happened.”

Phil shoves the box back under the bed and sits back on his feet.

“That’s pretty much all we need for now,” he says, looking over at Dan.

“Alright.”

When the case is zipped up and ready to go, they take a final look around Phil’s apartment. It’s obviously not the last time they’re going to be there, Dan knows that, but there’s some kind of finality in how he gazes at each room and remembers the times he’s spent in them.

(“I’m not drunk,” Elle had said, her eyes glazed over and a glass balance precariously in her hand. “I just happened to consume some alcohol. It hasn’t gone to my system. I can still talk and walk alright.”

Dan and Phil had shared a look that screamed otherwise, but they’d decided to go with it.

“If you’re not drunk,” Phil had teased, “then you won’t tell us a secret.”

“I love secrets!” Elle had squealed, knocking back the remainders of her drink. “Okay. So. Socialism. No. What was I going to say?”

“A secret,” Dan had offered.

“Right. So I think I might be bi. Not biracial, I know that already, but the other bi. You know the one.”

“Bisexual?”

“That’s the ticket,” she’d grinned, her words beginning to slur. “I think I’m having a sexual awakening. I was on my way to work and there was this person standing by the door, and they were just... so beautiful. They looked so... feminine, and I don’t even know if they are or not, because I didn’t stop to talk, but-”

She’d trailed off, frowning.

“Anyway, maybe I’m just being dumb. Maybe cis men keep letting me down and I want to explore other options.”

“You’re allowed to do that,” Dan had reassured her.

“What Dan said,” Phil had said. “I hadn’t had any experiences with men until recently. It’s okay to not be 100% confident in your identity.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Elle had snorted. “You’re saying you’ve never shagged a guy until Dan came along?”

“Came on his chest, yes,” Dan had replied. He’d received a slap on his arm shortly afterwards.

“That’s cool,” she’d mumbled. “You’re like partners, but not official partners. Like unofficial partners.”

Not too long after that, she’d said something about sleeping and had promptly crashed out on Phil’s sofa bed. The two of them had been left with what she’d said lingering in the air.)

“You alright?” Phil says suddenly.

Dan’s pulled away from his memories and he blinks. “Yeah. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“The time we got pissed and Elle said she thought she was bi.”

“I remember that,” Phil replies, chuckling. “What made you think of that?”

“Just the sofa.” Dan shakes his head. “She – she called us unofficial partners that night. I guess it’s just stuck with me.”

Phil smiles and comes over to wrap his arms loosely around Dan’s waist. Dan clasps his hands together behind Phil’s neck and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Not so unofficial now, are we?” Phil says teasingly.

Dan rolls his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“You twat. Of course I have to spell it out.”

“I’m all ears.”

Phil sighs and presses their foreheads together for the second time that day. The first time, it’d felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on them, like every conceivable nightmare had simultaneously manifested around them.

The first time was like a snowdrop budding in the depths of winter, a ray of hope and purity streaming through the biting cold. The first time was a sign that no matter how hard things got, they still had each other, and maybe that was enough to conquer them.

The second time feels less intense, like a sunflower lazily soaking up the warmth of the sun’s rays. It feels safe, comfortable, perfect. Phil lowers his voice to barely above a murmur.

“Would you like to be my official partner?”

“Yeah,” Dan replies instantly. “I’d like that.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Phil says. “We know that much. Although you’re technically not my lawyer, we still had a professional connection for a bit.”

“So no PDA,” Dan confirms. “I can live with that.”

“As long as we can make up for it when we’re inside.”

“Is that your way of asking if we can go back to mine already?”

“Maybe.”

Later that night, Dan finds himself pressed into Phil’s – his _boyfriend’s_ – side. They’re talking softly, uttering words into the darkness that neither of them will probably remember in the morning. Dan doesn’t mind. At times like this, when his guard is completely down, his tongue is as loose as he wants it to be.

“We’re safe here,” he says. “This is somewhere that maybe... maybe the world won’t find us.”

Phil’s lips curl into a serene smile.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it!
> 
> thank you sosososo much to anyone who's read or left kudos or commented or messaged me on tumblr about this fic. it's finally finished and i couldn't be happier! i now have 2 completed fics! who would have thought!
> 
> if you liked this then you may or may not be happy to hear i'm cowriting a chaptered au called 'now that i see you' and i'm working on a pbb fic that'll come out at some point. until then i'll be over on tumblr @awrfhi
> 
> i love you all! thank you again <3

_Guilty._

Dan feels glued to his chair, the word staining the inside of his brain. Alex was guilty before; now he’s guilty in the eyes of the law, guilty in a way that leaves a permanent mark on his record and turns people away from him.

And it’s Dan’s fault.

When he drags his eyes up, he looks at the man who’s just been given a restraining order and 6 months of community service and his stomach sinks. 6 months for a lifetime of trauma. Elle’s quiet sobs fill the stagnant air, echoing around the walls of the courtroom.

One by one, the people surrounding him stand up and leave. Alex is dragged away, handcuffed and limp. The sounds fade out until there’s nothing but ringing silence, a high-pitched nothingness that eats away at him.

Even then, he doesn’t move. He just stares and stares and stares.

 

* * *

 

“6 months,” he hisses, pacing around his kitchen. “6 fucking months.”

“Dan,” Phil replies, eyeing him from the other side of the room. His voice is calm and unwavering. Dan wishes he could be like him right now – so effortless, so ambivalent – but he can’t. He can’t sit back and let Alex serve people soup when he should be behind bars.

“It’s not enough,” he says flatly. “You know the shit he put her through. How did he get away with 6 months?”

“I don’t know,” Phil replies, sounding pained.

“We can’t just... sit here and do nothing. We need to convince them to throw him in jail. Lock him up. Do something. Every minute he’s out of prison is a minute Elle spends in fear because of what he did.”

“That’s out of our control, love.”

Phil’s small endearment throws Dan off guard momentarily. He should have known they’d start coming at some point, but nearly a month of dating and he’s still blown away with just how much he adores this man.

“Out of _your_ control, maybe.”

“You’d just do something stupid and dangerous,” Phil reasons. “Yes, what he did was wrong and yes, he got away with the puniest sentence in history, but if we interfere we get in trouble. Things are too good right now to jeopardise that.”

“Oh, Phil,” he hums, making his way over, “I never said we had to get directly involved.”

He winds his arms around Phil’s neck, pressing them flush together. Phil rolls his eyes but places his hand on Dan’s waist. Neither of them make any further moves. They stand there, wrapped up in the safety of each other, nose to nose.

“Still,” Phil murmurs against his lips. “It’s best if we stay away from him from now on. You’re quite the devious one, aren’t you?”

Dan grins. “When I want to be.”

They kiss briefly before Phil pulls away, his eyes glinting with mirth.

“Dan?”

“Mm?”

“Run away with me.”

Dan brings his hand up to cup Phil’s cheek and pulls him back in for more. A response lingers on the tip of his tongue, but before he knows it, his tongue is slipping into the wet heat of Phil’s mouth and all coherent thoughts are out of his grasp. He winds his hand back to the nape of Phil’s neck and holds him there, a steady presence in the chaos of his world.

Phil takes a step forward with Dan still pressed against him.

“Want you,” he grunts.

“On the kitchen counter? That’s hot,” Dan replies, breathless.

After that, everything begins to blur together. All he can vaguely register is the feeling of his searing skin on the cool granite counter and Phil’s hand working him apart piece by piece. It’s slow, torturous, and Dan feels like his veins are filled with molasses. Phil kisses into his moans, swallows the sounds down, then Dan feels a lance of white-hot pleasure shoot through him before he’s melting into Phil’s arms.

When they’re stripping down to clean up in the shower, Phil looks down at his boxers and chuckles.

“I was eager,” he comments.

Dan glances at the damp patch and quirks a brow.

“If we’re running away together, you’re going to have to learn how to be patient,” Dan replies, switching the water on. “Unless you weren’t serious about that.”

Phil doesn’t step in immediately, instead opting to take in the view of the rivulets streaming down Dan’s back. Dan turns around, rolling his eyes.

“This isn’t a conversation for the shower,” Phil decides. “I’m preoccupied.”

“What on earth could you be preoccupied with?” Dan teases, but lets the topic slide in favour of having Phil’s skin on his.

Later on, he somehow finds himself on his knees.

“Time for what you missed out on earlier.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s a dumb idea.”

Elle and Phil look across at each other, communicating whatever they can with eyesight. Dan leans back against Phil’s good arm and looks at his feet, his head swimming slightly.

If he’d been asked this after the day at court, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. In that moment, he’d needed some, hell, _any_ , kind of release. Breaking into someone’s house and stealing their money would have been the cherry on top.

Assessing the situation now, he doesn’t know why he feels so unsure. It’s the perfect way to fulfil Phil’s desire to run away and his own desire to get back at Alex one final time. If executed correctly, Alex will never know Dan and Phil were a part of it.

“It’s a very dumb idea,” Dan begins. Phil’s face falls. “But at the same time, it’s kind of perfect. The only question is: how do we avoid repercussions?”

“When I met Alex, I was richer than him anyway,” Elle replies. “Most of the stuff in that place is mine or bought with my money. We can sell the stuff we don’t need.”

“He’ll have a bunch of cameras,” Phil adds. “Has he insured any of them?”

“Are you kidding?” Elle laughs. “He’s not that clever. Look at him. He’s a twat.”

Dan feels Phil’s laughter vibrate through his chest. When Elle starts laughing harder, he steals a look up at Phil’s smiling face. In that moment, everything falls into place.

They have to do this.

“What time does he do community service?” Dan asks.

Elle stops laughing and looks at him with a gaze so intense it seems to melt through his skin. “Is that your way of saying you’re in?”

Dan nods. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. Space for Phil to work on expanding his own business, even if he’s now in a more rural location. Space for Dan to make something out of what was once an obsession of his. As it turns out, so many years of eating paninis makes him quite excellent at making and selling them.

Space for Elle to have some quiet time to herself – ever since the move, she’s needed somewhere to go to, somewhere she can feel safe and know nobody’s after her. She doesn’t work like the other two, not anymore. It’ll take a long time and patience and healing for her to feel safe around people she doesn’t know.

Built-in security that’s checked daily. If anyone – or anything – tries to get in or out, they’ll know about it. Phil even initially took the liberties of hiring someone to build a fence around their house. Stealing from Alex left them with a substantial sum of money to play with. They like to think they’ve used it well.

And Alex, that man. They haven’t heard from him once, thank god. Hopefully he’s still suffering. Even then, he’ll never suffer anywhere near as much as Elle was, and still is. Sometimes the three of them deliberate going back, just to ruin his life some more.

What’s arguably the best part of the house is the views that stretch from the windows. Beyond their garden lies a rocky shore leading down to the sea. In the summer, the sea glints like a shard of glass; in the winter, the thick clouds overhead pelt down into it. At night, they can hear the sounds of the waves slipping back and ebbing in steadily, a welcome change from the buzz of central Manchester.

Once upon a time, Dan and Phil had talked about when this would happen. Now it’s here, lying in the palms of their hands like a jewel. The least they can do is tighten their fingers around it.

They’re safe here. The world won’t find them.


End file.
